Put Away Wet
by saberivojo
Summary: Wild West AU! Dean is a cowboy with a bad leg and he has a big old black stallion named Mac. Sam left the family ranch in order to go to school in the city, but when John goes missing, Dean has to get off his horse and go after his brother.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Put Away Wet  
>Author: Saberivojo<br>Rating: Gen, PG 13 for potty language, h/c

Characters: Cowboy!Dean, Bobby  
>Disclaimer: I own nothing just like playing with the boys<br>Summary: Wild West AU! Dean is a cowboy with a bad leg and he's a big old black stallion named Mac. Sam left the family ranch in order to go to school in the city, but when John goes missing, Dean has to get off his horse and go after his brother.

Dean never understands why Pa is such a damn prick. But he can be and it never really seems to bother him if Sam - or Dean for that matter- cares about his attitude. He is John fucking Winchester and what he says goes.

Period.

He rules the Rocking W with an iron fist and an even tighter rein.

Every ranch hand knows it. Every man, woman and child between here and town knows it.

It is what it is.

But despite him being a dick and a pain in the ass, he is fair and honest. He has made this Texas hole-in-the-wall into a thriving cattle ranch with a side order of quarter horses that are the fastest in the territory, bred with more cow sense than a damn heifer. So yeah, Pa irritates the shit out of him routinely, but Dean can't fault his take-no-prisoners approach to just about everything.

It works. Usually.

Pa doesn't believe in discussing much with Dean. He keeps business close to the vest, and Dean is okay with that. Dean handles the horses; Pa handles the overall operation and Sam? Well, Sam is off at school.

College boy.

Dean rethinks Sam's leaving. Pa had almost shit a brick over that one. Sam had grown a pair of bull-sized cajones, walked out on Pa, slammed the door and headed east.

Sam was just eighteen, and John Winchester had never had a problem walloping the hell out of either boy, so Dean was shocked when Pa let him go. But he did. Sam was gone, and John Winchester would never admit he was wrong, so life on the Rocking W went on.

Dean sits by the window, drags a hand over his face. Well, life might be going on but that sure ain't saying much. Now not only is Sammy gone, but Pa is gone too. Mr. "Don't-Worry-About-What-I'm-Doing-Just-Do-What-I-Tell-You-To-Do" has been gone for two weeks. Two weeks without a word to anyone. Just up and left.

Typical. Except not really. Because Pa is a sonofabitch at times, but he doesn't just leave without a note, or a plan or something. Pa has a business to run and a job to do. Walkin' out on the job ain't likely. Not for his father.

Dean grabs the cane that is always at his side and pulls his right leg out from under the table. He runs a hand down his leg. It hurts. It always hurts, but he gave up downing morphine years ago. He leans heavily on his cane, takes a deep breath and steps toward the front door.

Bobby is leading Mac up to the porch. Dean really doesn't like folks messing with his horse, but Bobby has been the foreman at the Rocking W all of Dean's life. He knows Mac and he knows Dean.

Bobby tips his hat back, glares hard at Dean from under the rim.

"You sure about this, boy?"

Dean offers the older man a slow smile.

"Sure 'nuff. He's out there somewhere, Bobby and I gotta find him."

Mac tosses his head and pulls the reins from Bobby's hands, then takes a step toward Dean. The stallion blows through his nose, huffing his breath into Dean's neck. Dean gives him a rub.

"At least lemme go with ya."

Dean shakes his head. "No, Bobby, we need you here. This place would fall apart without you."

"It'll be fine. We'll be fine. You shouldn't be heading out alone."

Dean trusts and respects Bobby and even though Dean is the boss' son he would never pull that card, so he does the second best thing he can think of.

"I won't be alone, I'll be with Sam."

Bobby chuffs low. "You think you're gonna get your brother to come back here to look for your daddy?"

Bobby spits then, hits the ground with a slug of chew.

But Dean just grins. He grabs the saddle horn and puts his left boot in the stirrup and swings his right leg over the saddle. It isn't elegant – never is- but Mac stands quietly until Dean gets his leg braced into the right stirrup. Once he settles in the saddle, Mac dances a bit; his neck arches and he paws the ground excitedly. It is all bluff. Mac is just anxious to go.

Dean lifts the reins and nods to Bobby. Bobby hands him his cane, and Dean slides it into the modified rifle scabbard that was specially made for him. Just because he is riding Mac now, it didn't mean he won't need to get down sometime.

"He'll come Bobby. If I ask him, he'll come."

Dean turns the big stallion around his good leg, executing a perfect spin. Then they effortlessly move out at a ground-eating lope.

The closest town isn't much. But it has a telegraph and that is the first place Dean heads.

Dean walks Mac to the hitching post in front of the post office. He shifts his weight in the saddle; Mac eases his hindquarters over, a simple leg yield that leaves Dean in perfect position to dismount.

Dragging his bad leg over the saddle after a long ride is a bitch. He grabs the leg and physically man handles it over the cantle and bedroll. Then with all weight on his left leg he braces his arms against the saddle and slowly lowers himself to the ground.

Once on the ground Dean balances his weight against the big black. He takes deep a breath of horse, leather and sweat, then leans heavily on Mac. He grabs a handful of mane, re-orients himself, and then pivots to the cane. This is regroup time. Dean braces himself on Mac, breathing hard through his nose. His leg protests the change from rider to walker, the dull ache spiking to fucking _shitshitshit_. He pats the horse, turns then with a sharp breath and takes a step.

Step, hitch, breath. Step, hitch, breath. But Dean straightens himself out, squares his shoulders and makes his way to the telegraph office.

The message to Sam is short.

_Pa's gone missing Stop I need your help Stop Meet me in New York Stop_.

The problem is it's a three-day ride to meet a train. Dean palms his cane, takes another deep breath and makes his way back to Mac.

Three days and he'll be on his way to Sam.

The night before they hit the train station, Dean sits by the fire. He leans back against the saddle and bedroll thinking about Sam. Damn kid. Fuckin' college boy. But he smiles into the flames. He wishes Sam were here now – that, and for a cup of coffee.

He checks his handgun, makes sure the rifle is within reach. His Pa didn't raise a dumb kid and there is no one here but him and Mac. No one to depend on, but no one he needs to watch out for either.

With Pa gone, well it seems harder somehow. Or easier, he isn't sure. There is the sound of hoof on rock and Mac bangs him sharply with his head, demanding a rub.

"You're a pushy bitch, eh?"

Then because no one can hear him anyway. "Ahh, who's my baby."

Dean falls asleep to the quiet sound of Mac nibbling on grass.

The town is big compared to what Dean is used to. Mac seems to think so too. The stallion jigs his way into town, shaking his head and jingling his bit.

"Easy, Mac."

The black settles to a walk, steps out confidently, ears forward. But he offers a heavy snort when a woman with a pram pushes her baby across the dirt street.

Dean can feel the horse tense under him, muscles coiling. Mac is all forward energy, a moment away from vertical, but Dean reaches down and soothes the sweaty neck. He lets his weight and voice calm the horse. Mac blows one more time then moves off when Dean asks.

"Atta boy."

It doesn't take long to find the train station; it is the reason this town was built. The dismount is even worse than usual. Three days of hard riding has put Dean in a world of hurt. He grimaces; it's not the riding but hitting ground afterward that takes his breath away. It makes him rethink morphine usage, makes him grab for the flask he keeps in his vest. His right leg trembles with effort as he pulls his cane from in front of the saddlebag. If he wasn't hurting so bad he would take Mac to the livery. Right now, it is all he can do to make his way into the station.

The attendant peers at him through his glasses, carefully watching his progress through the small station.

"You okay there, son?"

Dean just can't deal with good intentions. Not now.

"'M' fine." It grinds out like broken glass.

Maybe the guy has seen worse, maybe not, but it shuts him up. Dean buys the ticket then lurches back to Mac. The stallion whickers softly when he approaches. He sounds like home.

Dean mounts back up and walks Mac to the livery. He gets him settled. Feeds him a flake of hay and a handful of grain. The stallion noses him out of the way, Dean temporarily forgotten with the promise of sweet feed.

"Smart ass."

Dean hears a chuckle from the corner of the barn. A boy, younger than Sam, steps out of the shadows. He reminds him of his brother at fifteen, all angles and legs. The kid nods to Dean, then at Mac.

"Sure is a fine lookin' horse, mister."

Dean leans up against the barn stall, shifts his weight to his left leg.

"Yeah, he is. You work here?"

"Yes, sir." The boy smiles at Dean but his eyes are all over Mac. Like the horse is Jesus' second coming.

Dean recognizes the look.

"What's your name?"

"Caleb, my pa owns the place."

Dean takes a quick look around. The barn is clean, the stalls heavily bedded. He's already checked the hay, and Lord knows that Mac seems to like it. There's a bucket of fresh water in every stall. It's obvious the kid cares about this barn and the horses in it.

It's a good place.

"You ride?" The boy looks at Dean like maybe he is addled, gestures with a nod of his head at the barn full of horses but he is too respectful to make a stink about it.

"Yes, sir."

"Ya wanna job?"

The kid quirks an eyebrow in his direction. "Probly so. Whatcha need?"

Dean gestures to Mac.

"Take care of him for me. Keep him fit and happy. Turn him out some; ride him if you've a mind to. He'll listen fine but he can be a handful sometimes. He's a stud, so keep him away from the girls unless you are lookin' for a foal in eleven months."

Dean peels off a wad of money. Hands it to the boy. It is probably more than the kid has ever seen in his life.

"You watch him, boy. I'll be back. Not sure exactly when, but make sure Mac there is taken care of and you'll get more when I come back. Can you do that for me?"

The boy looks shocked. At the money and at the stallion but more importantly, at Dean.

"Yes, sir."

"I'll hold you to it, kid. I come back and Mac here ain't as happy as a pig in mud and I will kick your sorry ass into next week."

"Yes, sir."

Dean hands him the address to the ranch. It's got Bobby's name on it and the local telegraph.

"You run into any problems, you call Bobby Singer. I'll be in touch."

Mac has popped his head over the stall and roughly bumps Dean. Dean gives him a final scratch to the forehead.

"My name's Dean. Dean Winchester."

Dean steps out of the darkened barn and into the street. He moves awkwardly toward the train station, his cane more than one kind of crutch. 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Put Away Wet, Chap 2 Finding Sam  
>Author: Saberivojo<br>Characters: Cowboy!Sam and Cowboy!Dean Winchester  
>Rating: PG 13 for potty mouth. Gen<br>Disclaimer: I own nothing, just like playing with the boys  
>Summary:<p>

XX

Dean steps off the train in New York.

He hates this city. There is no room to maneuver and very few places for him to stop and catch his breath. That pisses the hell out of him. He is far too young to hurt this fucking much. Days on a train have tightened up his leg and the routine ache is spiking off the charts now.

Dean steps off the train and leans heavily onto his cane. Fuck it. He reaches inside his vest and pulls out his flask, swallows the whiskey in one gulp. It doesn't help right away but at least it is a bit of a pre-emptive strike.

Damn, he wishes for Mac. He would at least be mobile. But Mac is on vacation back home, eating hay and flirting with girls. Dean should be so lucky.

The train station is busy but his brother is easy to find; Sam is a good head taller than most of the people around him.

He can see Sam searching for him, eyes scanning the crowd. At least the kid isn't running the other way.

It has been a few years since he saw his brother and the familiar flood of memories hits him almost as hard as the pain in his leg. His little brother looks good. All citified and a little more grown up. Christ, he's wearing a black jacket, white broadcloth shirt and a black string tie. Looks like a fuckin' gambler. Dean locks on Sam's eyes and then suddenly Sam is striding toward him, all long legs and tentative smile.

"Dean!" Sam stops in front of Dean and then the rest of the train station is milling around them both. It is a little awkward but Sam holds Dean's eyes and yeah, the boy is growing up. Suddenly someone rams into Dean. The abrupt shift in weight has him losing his balance. He braces with his cane but he's not centered and he's sure he is going down.

Sam is there in a heartbeat, his strong arm steadying Dean. It is as natural as breathing for Sam. Dean knows this, but it still is hard. This is his baby brother. Dean is supposed to be watching out for him.

"Just can't keep your hands off me, eh kiddo?" Dean puts the appropriate amount of lightness in the comment and it works. Sam doesn't stop his support but he gently punches Dean in the arm.

XX

They make their way to a tavern not too far from the station. It's busy but they find a table in the back. Dean settles gratefully in his seat with a small groan. The bar maid comes by. "What'll it be boys?"

"Whiskey, leave the bottle." Sam punctuates the sentence with a hand slam to the table and a lopsided grin. The bar maid is back a second later with a bottle and two glasses of questionable cleanliness. She leaves as quickly as she came.

Dean waggles a brow at his little brother. "What are they teachin' you at that fancy school? How to get fucked-up in the shortest time possible?"

Sam looks determined. "Nope, but I've a feelin' that I'm gonna need the artificial courage and you? Well, you just need a fuckin' drink."

"And who taught you to cuss like that?" Dean tries for stern, but there is a smile on his lips.

"M'brother. Our pa tried to beat it out of us, but we're stubborn little shits." Sam smiles too and it feels right, he and Sammy sharing a bottle of whisky. It would feel better at home though, out by the swimming hole with a sky full of Texas stars

_Jesus, he's maudlin and he's not even drunk yet._

"So, how's Bobby?"

"Cantankerous as ever. We should be foalin' soon so he's got his hands full."

Sam nods, moppy brown hair spilling onto his face.

"How about Mac?"

Dean smiles. "It's his first crop of babies, so we'll see. But he's sound and snorty and about as fine as a horse can be."

Sam pours two fingers in each glass. Slams it back with a vengeance. Dean follows suit and grimaces when the whiskey hits his belly.

Dean leans back against the chair, takes a notice for the first time that Sam's not packin'. "So college boy, where's your guns?"

"I'm in school, Dean. A student. How often am I gonna need a gun? What? Threaten a professor for not givin' me an A?" Sam snorts a bit.

"Doesn't matter, kid. You should be protecting yourself. What if someone jumps ya or something?"

"I know a thing or two about protecting myself, Dean. I had to routinely beat my asshole brother up."

Dean laughs then, deep and full.

"Plus…" Sam opens his jacket to reveal a derringer neatly tucked into his jacket.

Dean goes from laughter to outright guffaw. " A girly-gun? What are ya gonna do with that peashooter…. piss somebody off? " 

"It's very reliable at close quarters, Dean. And inconspicuous. I like inconspicuous."

Dean recovers, wipes a tear from his eye. His 6-foot 4inch brother is carrying a gun that he could hide in his fuckin' bear paw.

Sam smiles, whether it is because his brother thinks his choice of handguns is insane or whether it's something else, Dean's not sure. Dean takes another slug of whiskey. Then watches as Sam pours him another and drinks one himself. Sam's face is suddenly serious.

"So, Pa. What's up with him?" For the first time, Sam doesn't sound sure of himself. There is a barely noticeable tremor in his voice. Dean doesn't need to look at his brother to know that they are treading on sensitive ground.

"I dunno, Sam." Dean looks away then, not quite able to reach his brother's eyes. "He's been gone for a little over three weeks. Nothin'. No sign, no trail, just gone."

"Maybe he's down south, drinkin' cheap Mexican tequila. " Sam ventures.

Dean shakes his head. "Nope, that ain't it. I don't know where he is but Mexico ain't likely."

"The high country then. He can get just as drunk there. "

Dean growls a little. "Why are you so sure he's laying face down in a puddle of his own puke,

Sam? Why do you think he's drunk off his gourd somewhere?"

"Like father; like son." Sam points to the whiskey bottle.

Dean twitches. "There ain't no way you're drinkin' like this routinely, Sam. Your grades are too fuckin' good so I ain't buying that shit."

Sam seems to ponder it a minute. "So how do you know about my grades, Dean?"

"I know everything little brother. Don't think for a minute I don't."

Sam tilts his head in Dean's direction and if Dean didn't know any better he'd think the kid might just pitch a fit over that one. But he just sighs. Like little brothers everywhere. He doesn't need to know how Dean watches out for him, just that Dean does it. Dean wants to leave it that way.

"I dunno, maybe he's holed up with some senorita somewhere. I mean it's been years since mom died."

In a flash Dean's eyes darken; he reaches across the table in a lightening quick move and fists his brother's shirt, he jerks hard and pulls Sam to him, powerful arms moving all of Sam's weight like it's nothing.

Sam has the good common sense to look away then. A moment later his eyes meet Dean's. Damn that kid and his puppy dog eyes. It's all Dean can do not to pull him into a rough hug.

"Sorry, Dean." Sam speaks softly. Dean shakes him once roughly then drops him back in his chair. He settles back into his own with an involuntary hiss.

It's quiet then. They nurse their drinks for a few minutes, the waitress comes back to check on them and they order chili. Dean thinks there must be something wrong with ordering chili in New York but Sam seems okay with it so it can't be too bad.

They eat. And the chili is alright. The bread is better, slathered with butter and cut thick.

"So, Sammy." Dean takes a hunk of bread and slops up the remaining chili. "When can you get your shit together? I want to be gone by tonight."

Sam stops eating. "I uh, appreciate the visit, Dean. It is good to see you, really. But I can't come. "

"What do ya mean, you can't come. 'Course you can. Just pack up your stuff and come on. Wherever he is he has a three-week head start on us and by the time we get home it'll be a month. "

Sam purses his mouth and offers a tight shake to his head.

"Ain't comin' Dean. He doesn't want me there. He said as much. So why the fuck do I wanna stop what I'm doing to hunt him down. Especially, since I'm not all that worried about him anyway."

"Well, I'm worried, damn it." Dean rakes a hand across his short hair. "Sam. I need your help here."

"No you don't. You can do this on your own."

"Well, maybe…" Dean rubs the back of his neck. "But I don't want to."

"Dean, I don't think I can do it. Really. I mean me and Pa? It's like fire and water and I don't' want another fight. Things are good here. I'm doing good in school. I have a girl, I left that life behind."

"What life, Sammy? What did the man do that was so wrong?" Dean is trying to keep it cool.

"He was tough, hell still is tough, but it made us even tougher. So this is what you want? This…" Dean gestures to the front of the tavern; even from where they sit it's a mad house of people. Bicycles and horses and noise. "This…. city." The word sounds like a curse.

"Yeah, Dean, It's what I want. And that oughta be enough." Sam speaks quietly, almost to himself.

Dean leans back in the chair. Suddenly the ache in his leg seems so much worse. Is it the thought of going back home without Sam? Is it because maybe Bobby was right? Sam won't come. Sam is doing his thing, with his girl in this fuckin' city and there is not a damn thing that Dean can do about it.

And in that moment, Sam meets Dean's eyes and there isn't two years and thousands of miles between them. It's just Sam and Dean.

Sam sighs deep, so much like the teenager who's really not too far back in Dean's memory that Dean almost rolls his eyes.

"Okay. One month, Dean. You have one month. We'll find him; we'll drag his sorry ass home. He'll rip me a new one, 'cause that is what he does best. But then I'm gone."

"One month." Dean agrees and suddenly he can breathe again.

XX

The train leaves late that night and Sam settles in his seat. He sits easily despite all of the body that needs to get stuffed into a seat that was apparently designed for midgets.

Dean opts for a brief walk through the train, wants to move a bit before settling down for a train ride that is gonna freeze his leg up. Halfway down he hears a familiar voice.

"Dean? Dean Winchester?"

Dean turns to see the wide grin of Deacon McClain. "Deacon…been a while!" Dean shakes his hand, a quick pump and smiles at the older man.

"Last time I saw you, I think you were messing with that little red head girl near that saloon outside of Cold Spring." Dean can't help but feel the heat of a blush because the red head could kiss like a hooker and Dean had been just fifteen. Far too young to be playing with a seventeen year-old girl and far too reckless to avoid her twenty year old brother.

The bruised ribs had been worth it, Pa's subsequent what for, not so much.

Deacon smiles too, "Your old man was fit to be tied."

Dean drops his chin a notch at the memory. "Yeah, but it was fun while it lasted."

"Speakin' of which, what the hell are you doin' on a westbound train, I woulda thought you and Sam would be hunting that sonofabitch with your daddy."

Dean tries to school his face, keep the smile. "We're heading back that way, gonna meet up with him. Sam's up in the front of the car."

Deacon tilts his head and Dean can see the conflict in his posture and then he seems to make a decision.

"Good, tell your daddy, I said hi." Deacon turns to make his way past.

"Deacon, talk to me man. Where is he?" Deacon stops and looks steadily at Dean.

"Dean, if he didn't tell ya, I'm sure not goin' down that road."

"Don't…. don't do this to me, Deacon." Dean stands as straight as he can, pushes his height up against Deacon.

"Look, Dean. I rode with your daddy in the Rangers, we fought side by side and there ain't nothin' I won't do for that man, and that means shuttin' up when he don't want something talked about."

Dean growls low. Deacon McClain might be one of his Pa's best friends and he may just kick Dean' s ass right here in the car on a westbound train but Dean isn't backin' down on this one.

"I ain't fifteen anymore, Deacon. I don't need Pa or you to protect me, what I need is to find him. Figure out what's goin' on. I would be beholden to you if you could point me in the right direction. Please."

Deacon turns away, faces the rush of windows and darkness as the train moves through the night.

He sighs. "Damn it, boy. He's got a lead on who killed your Ma. He' s huntin' him… I'm guessin' he thinks he needs to do it alone, Dean. "

"Well, how the hell do you know?"

"Dean, once a Ranger, always a Ranger. Your pa has kept his contacts through the years, he's got a lot of eyes who have been watchin' out for that sonofabitch to surface. Bobby wanted him to stay, to let sleepin' dogs lie but John Winchester is a force of nature kiddo, you know that as much as anyone."

Dean feels a flash of anger, bright and quick. Bobby knew.

"You got anything else for me?"

Deacon looks hard at Dean just as the train lurches through a rough patch of track. Dean compensates but grabs at a seat, barely maintaining his balance. Dean doesn't see pity in Deacon's eyes but there is a flicker of something. Regret maybe. Or worry. Dean' isn't sure but doesn't care.

"If your daddy don't wanna be found, it ain't likely you'll find him."

Dean nods in agreement but it is quick and tight. Until the old man tells him personally to back the fuck off, it ain't happening.

At least now he has a place to start.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Put Away Wet, Chapter 3 Heading Home  
>Author: Saberivojo<br>Characters: Cowboy!Dean, Cowboy!Sam, Cowboy!Bobby  
>Rating: PG 13 for potty mouth GenDisclaimer: I own nothing, just like playing with the boys.<br>Summary: Follow up to Cowboy!AU Put Away It's the Wild West, Pa is missing and the Winchester boys are looking for him.

When Dean steps off the train he can't help but take a deep breath. His leg is killing him, but it isn't that. He can breathe out here, out west where there are no fences, no crowds of people and hell yeah, no colleges that can rope your little brother into leaving.

He feels bad about the last thought because Sam's right next to him, and it feels good to have him there. Sam is carrying his tattered valise and Dean's travel bag, which isn't much more than a sack with a change of clothes in it. Just the fact that his brother even owns a valise is enough to make Dean wanna give him a good hard cuff to the head.

City boy.

It's hot, much hotter than back east, and Dean can feel the sweat veeing down his shirt. Sam isn't wearing his jacket anymore but still has the white button-up and black tie. Sam shifts the duffel to his right arm and gently pulls at his neck, stretching the shirt and relaxing the knot in the tie a bit.

"Y'oughta untie that, Sam. Might just choke yourself out here. 'Sides, you look like a combination between a preacher and a card shark." Dean grins when he notices Sam's expression, the pursed lips and perpetual frown.

They step off the platform. Dean pauses to orient himself and takes a few halting steps toward the livery, while Sam slows his pace to match Dean's. It's unobtrusive but so fucking obvious, and as usual, Dean isn't quite sure how to take it. A part of him wants to tell Sam to get the fuck away from him, but a bigger part breathes a sigh of relief. Sam has his back and that gives Dean the confidence to pick up the pace. Still, it's slow going.

"So, Dean. What's the plan here?" 

Dean offers a quick curve of the lip. "What plan? Other than get my horse and get the fuck back home?"

Sam glances quickly at the ground and snorts then smiles softly. "Yeah, other than that."

"Dunno, Sam. We're gonna have a word or two with Bobby, that's for damn sure. And since that's where Pa left, I'm thinking that's the best place to pick up his trail."

"Dean, are you sure about this? About goin' after Pa? I mean, if he wanted us, he would ask for us. Ask – hell, he'd tell us. "

Dean keeps on walking, or whatever passes for walking. "Yep, I'm sure."

"Dean…he's all but ordered you to stay home."

Dean takes another step. "And how do you figure that, Sam? He never told me to stay."

"He never gave you the chance to go, Dean." Sam lets that sink in a second. "Plus, he made sure that Bobby wouldn't tell you where he was. No, he wants us in the dark, and it's not like you to disobey him."

"Yeah, well, maybe I changed some while you've been soakin' up all that fancy book learnin.'" Dean leans on it a bit, puts some growl in his voice . He wants to end this conversation quickly.

Sam takes the hint and shuts up, but Dean can tell he ain't happy about it.

XX

They reach the livery and are met at the front door by Caleb, the kid who Dean put in charge of Mac while he was gone.

Caleb smiles at Dean. "I thought you said your boy was a sweetheart?"

"That wasn't the exact words I used." But Dean can hear Mac from outside the livery, can hear the trumpet of a stallion that wants out, NOW, followed by a solid thump of hoof to wall.

"He's just a little hot s'all." Dean seems slightly offended as if Mac were an unruly school boy and the teacher had pulled daddy in for a parent teacher conference.

Dean steps into the barn and Mac stops mid-yell. Dean can hear him shift in the stall and then a moment later feels the comforting blow of Mac against his neck.

"Howsmyboy." He speaks soft and low. Mac lips the tips of his hair and then chuffs into his neck again.

He hears Sam's voice from behind him.

"Should I get you two a room?"

"Shut the fuck up. You wouldn't know a good horse if it followed you home. "

Which isn't exactly fair because Sam does know horses, he just doesn't know them like Dean does – but then, there's not too many people who do.

Dean notes with satisfaction that the stall is clean and Mac's coat shines even in the dimly lit barn. The stallion tosses his head and offers an impatient pawing hoof to the front of the stall.

"Now Mac." He rebukes softly but Mac doesn't seem to care, lifts his front end up, and it's not quite a rear but he's obviously unhappy with his life at the moment.

"MAC." Dean is sharp, no-nonsense. "Knock it off." Mac pins one ear back and another forward, switches his tail in agitation but settles. It's a compromise.

Dean opens the stall door and Mac waits for him to slip a lead rope on his halter before he leads him out of the stall. He head butts Dean and oddly enough it doesn't push him off balance. Mac and he have an understanding of sorts. He is not sure quite how it works. Either he's intuitively aware that Mac wants a rub and braces, or Mac just doesn't push too hard. In either case, he rubs the big black between the eyes and the stallion drops his head.

Dean takes a quick look at Mac and it's all he needs. The horse looks great. He turns to Caleb.

"Good job, kid. I couldna done better myself."

The boy grins.

Dean reaches into his wallet and hands the boy some bills. " Here y'go." Then almost as an afterthought, "Hey, is there a horse we can buy for m'brother here?"

Caleb eyes up Sam and all of his six foot four body mass. "Uh, yes, sir. But let me see who'd best suit him."

Sam smiles. Dean knows he's used to making due when it comes to horses. Out here horses of any size are draft horses, not particularly quick, but manageable as long as they've been broken to saddle. Sam had outgrown most of the quarter horse stock by the time he was 16, and Dean knows he's gotten use to little horses that don't quite feel right, or big old plow horses that don't have the spunk that Sam would prefer.

"Hey, I think I know… Howard. Wait here, he's out back."

Dean looks at Sam and Sam just shrugs.

Dean puts Mac back in his stall, figures he'll tack him up as soon as they get a horse for Sam.

Caleb walks in the barn leading one of the biggest-boned light horses Dean has ever seen. The horse has a big white blaze down the middle of his face and four white socks with one that goes almost up his stifle. He's big, but not quite a heavy draft horse, is a little lighter than that. It's a weird combination that seems to work.

"Here's Howard." Caleb looks dwarfed next to the gelding. "His mama was a Clydesdale mare we used for all 'round work at the farm and his daddy was a thoroughbred we were boarding for a while. " Caleb drops his head and blushes a bit.

"He's a freak and a mistake. My mistake actually."

Dean looks at Caleb like he must be confused, rubs the back of his neck with the palm of his hand. "How in the hell'd you get a mistake like that?"

"Left the gate open. " Caleb meets Dean's eyes and smiles ruefully. "Well, Pa ain't quite forgiven me for it yet, but he let me keep him. And since he's my mistake, I had to break him. He's well broke, Mr. Winchester. He's big, strong, and a might quicker than he looks. " Caleb nods to Sam. "Now he don't have much cow-sense, sir. But he's honest and solid and despite his size, he's got some speed. "

Dean stands next to the horse, runs his hand down his legs, checks out his dinner plate-sized hooves and then quickly slides his hands over the big gelding. The horse has a good weight on him and is well muscled. Dean checks his teeth. "What is he – about four?"

"Yes, sir." Caleb pats the gelding. "He's just a baby but he ain't afraid of nothing. Don't know if that's his mama's side or his daddy's, but he's a gutsy sonofabitch." The boy blushes at the curse. "Sorry, sir, my mama would kick my butt if she heard me talkin' to a customer like that."

Dean smiles at the boy, all shaggy blond hair and earnest eyes. "We'll keep it our secret, Caleb."

Sam is on the other side of Howard and for the first time in a long time it looks like he might actually fit on a horse.

"I kinda like him, Dean." Sam grabs a curry and starts brushing him off a bit while Caleb starts on the other side and within a few minutes they have him sufficiently cleaned off and tacked up. Sam mounts easily, and Dean can't help but feel a twinge as his brother casually slides his leg over and picks up the reins.

It only takes a few minutes for Dean to know that Caleb is right. Howard is big but moves easily and Sam seems to fit him. He may be built like a fuckin' freight train but he moves like a smaller horse, he is animated and forward, something that a lot of big horses just don't seem to have.

"Whaddaya think Sam?

Sam pulls the big bay up. "Howard it is."

That's how they head out of town. Sam riding a big bay gelding with four white socks and Dean on Mac. They make an unusual pair, but Dean feels free for the first time in a long time, his brother beside him and his horse under him. There's a ways to go before they hit the ranch, but it'll do.

XX

"Dammit, Bobby!" Dean stagger-steps toward the older man. "What the fuck do you mean, you ain't talkin'?"

"Just what I said, Dean. You havin' a problem with your hearin?" Bobby's pulling the saddle off a buckskin mare, and he keeps right on working. Hefts the saddle and puts it over the saddle rack, then turns the saddle pad wet side up and drapes it over another rack. It's hot and there's a big old wet spot under the saddle. "Hand me that curry will ya, Sam?"

Dean watches as Sam grabs a curry off the box and hands it to Bobby. Bobby starts in circular motions, pushing the wet hair up, letting the hair ruffle and air dry. He pulls a rag from his pocket and starts drying the buckskin in bits. The mare isn't drippin' wet, just hot under the saddle.

"Bobby, talk to me man." Dean leans over the wet mare, his body a little sticky with her sweat.

"Make yourself useful, Dean. She ain't gonna dry off herself. " Bobby hands an extra rag to Dean and he continues currying with one hand and drying with the other. Dean shakes his head and starts to work on the other side of the buckskin. Halfway done he stops and looks at the rag in his hands then eyes Bobby over top of the mare again.

"What the fuck am I doin' this for? "

"'Cause she's a little hot and I want her cleaned up a bit before Sammy here walks her cool."

Sam cocks his head. "I'm coolin' her down?"

"Yeah, you gotta problem with that?"

"No, sir." Sam shoves his hands in his pockets and looks all of ten years old.

Dean takes a deep breath. "What the fuck? What's goin' on here? We know he told you something, you know it too, so spill, dammit." Dean isn't quite yelling, but he knows it's about as loud as he can make it and still keep civil.

Sam arches a brow in Dean's direction. Dean ignores it. Doesn't care. Bobby glares hard at Dean with a look that Dean knows like the back of his hand. Bobby doesn't often throw his weight around, that's what John Winchester is there for, but Bobby isn't gonna take any shit either.

"How about you just relax, Dean. Before you say something you're gonna regret."

Bobby isn't loud. He doesn't need to be.

Dean rakes a hand across his face, tries to take a deep breath.

Bobby's like family, which almost makes it worse, because right now Dean is a hairbreadth's away from slamming an uppercut to Bobby's jaw. Just like he might if Sam was giving him grief.

But this ain't Sam, it's Bobby, and damn if Dean will punch Bobby. Bobby put him on his first horse. Bobby showed him how to rope. Hell, Bobby caught him with his first cigarette behind the barn, something Pa never found out about but Bobby made damn sure that Dean knew he had fucked that one up big time.

Bobby had been pissed then, and he's lookin' a little pissed now.

"Bobby. You sure as hell better tell me what I need to know or so help me…" Dean lets the threat linger. It sits there unsaid, hanging like a noose over the conversation.

"Or you'll do what, boy?" Bobby has moved from pissed to a second away from losing his shit. He cants his head a notch in Dean's direction.

Cards on the table, bluff, call or fold.

Dean takes a deep breath. He drops his head. This man is more than just a foreman. He_ is_ family.

Dean swallows hard; his voice shakes just a bit.

"Bobby, please. I gotta find him." Dean speaks so quietly it's almost a whisper. Dean Winchester doesn't beg, doesn't ask for much, doesn't need much, but now, well, it's obvious that he needs this.

Bobby shakes his head, tilts his hat back. Looks up at the Texas sun with a squint. He hands the lead shank to Sam.

"Well, hell."

Dean looks at Bobby, sees Sam behind him with a shy smile on his face. Bobby turns quickly and Sam drops the smile like it's a hot poker.

Sam clucks softly to the buckskin and leads her off to cool her down. Dean might have wondered if Bobby would give in, but Sammy didn't seem that worried at all.

XX

Bobby waits until dinner. Both Sam and Dean have done a shitload of work and they're tired. Dean's backed a half dozen babies today: young, green and they all had a buck or two in them.

Dean doesn't believe in bronc bustin' but that doesn't mean that a two year old might not have a grudge about having somebody sitting on his back. Most of them offer just a hump or two in warning – they're good horses from good stock.

Dean's a little sore, but riding is easy for him, is as natural as breathin'. He likes the work and the satisfaction that he's accomplished something. But he is not back home to break babies. He needs to find his father. Dean's anxious to hear what Bobby has to say, but Bobby's workin' on his own time, and pushing him ain't gonna help anything or anybody.

Dinner is good. It's beef stew, thick and hearty and even though it's hot outside, it tastes great. Sam stretches out at the kitchen table, pushes his chair back and Dean can see that Sam's trying to relax. This ranch doesn't have the best of memories for him. He runs his hand through his sweaty brown mop of hair, slicks it back against his scalp.

Bobby gathers up the dishes, drops them in the sink and walks back to the table, then grabs a bottle of whiskey and three glasses.

"It's bad enough that we all gotta have a drink first?" Sam's voice waffles between amusement and worry.

Bobby turns, pins a serious look at Sam. Shifts his gaze to Dean.

"It's worse."

XX

Dean considers himself an easy goin' man. He handles most shit that comes down the pike without too much drama. He's never let himself get pigeon-holed into thinking one thing or another. He's flexible.

But he's also pretty sure that Bobby has lost his fuckin' mind.

That's disturbing.

Sam's sitting across from Bobby, clutching his glass of whiskey like it's a lifeline.

Maybe it is.

Dean eyeballs Bobby. "So, you're tellin' us that Mom was killed by some kind of demon and that Pa's picked up its trail. And you expect us to believe that shit _why_?"

Dean cocks his head in Bobby's direction, furrows his brow. "I mean the old man doesn't want us around and this is your solution to keepin' us here? Helluva story Bobby."

Bobby traces a finger on the table, studies his half-empty glass of whiskey.

"Wish it was, kid. Nobody can come up with a story like that."

"And we never knew about this. Never knew how mom died, never knew about hunters, never knew our Pa was one." Sam chimes in but his voice whisky rough and slurred. He's had a little too much to drink, and Dean doesn't blame him.

"Your father wanted to protect you, to keep you safe. The best way for him to do that was to keep you away from the shit he was doing. To keep you two out of range of that sonofabitch. What better way than here? It's isolated; he has total control over everything at this ranch. This place has more sigils and hoodoo than any house in New Orleans ever had. The land has been blessed by every denomination known to man, including several Indian tribes.

"Think about it, Dean. Your daddy's gone quite a bit, isn't he?"

"Well yeah, business trips. Sometimes hunting trips, but he always would tell us where he was goin'. This…" Dean gestures vaguely in the direction of the front of the house as if the house itself is in some way offending him. "This shit is plain fucked up. Besides, businessmen have business to attend to."

"Okay, what about all the training? The Latin? All the practice with guns and knives? What about you and Sam pounding on each other like a couple of prizefighters? Most kids don't spar like you and Sammy did. Don't you find that a little weird?"

"No, Bobby I don't. Latin? I dunno, Pa never needed a reason to want us to do something. Maybe just wanted us to learn the classics. And fighting? Boys fight. Pa just figured it'd be better if we knew how to fight right. We hunt, we track, so what? Lots of people do. Food is food. Bobby, I like it as much as the next person and the best way to eat is to hunt."

Bobby rubs a hand over his face.

"Did it ever occur to you that you might not need venison or rabbit? That you're sitting on 500 head of the finest cattle in Texas?"

"I dunno, I figured the old man liked variety or something." Dean knows he sounds a little petulant but it can't be helped.

"Besides, Dean. What father hands you six bullets and tells you to make sure you come back with six kills or he's gonna kick your ass into next week."

Sam's eyes are slitted he tilts his head down just a bit. The kid is well on his way to smashed. He offers a quiet chuff and then looks at both Dean and Bobby. "I just figured he was an asshole."

"Yeah, well I ain't denying that one, but boys, he knew what he was doing. He knew he had to be tough. He needed to make you boys tougher. The best shots, the best riders, the best hunters. Because he knew that he could only protect you so long and then it was up to you."

"Protect us? C'mon, Bobby. So we can fight, shoot and ride. Hell yeah, probably better than most, but how would that stop something like this. How in the hell did he figure that keeping us in the dark would help? How could you figure that? I mean if this story is true, then there ain't too many places we are safe and Pa? Well, he ain't safe at all."

"John always figured he would kill it. He planned on killing it years ago and save you boys the pain of knowin' what it was. But days turned into months, then years. Then you got hurt, Dean, and that changed everything."

Dean looks hard at Bobby. "Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He's unconsciously rubbing his leg, but he sees Bobby nod in the direction of it.

"Dean what do you remember about that night?"

Dean leans back. He tries not to think about it, doesn't dwell on it. He had been 17 and full of piss and vinegar. His father had bought the stallion for his bloodlines and only that. The horse was downright mean. Never broken to saddle, barely able to handle. They were gonna try him on a few mares and if the results weren't good enough, Pa had already said he was gonna put a bullet between his ears.

Dean had strict orders not to go near the sonofabitch. Orders that ended with "So, help me God, boy you touch that horse and you and me are gonna dance."

But Dean could never back down on a challenge. The price of a lickin' was worth the thrill of the ride. And Dean could ride. He could handle anything. The big black stallion wasn't gonna be easy but he wouldn't beat Dean Winchester. And he hadn't. Dean rode him.

It was midnight and he was all alone. Nothing but horse and raw energy and teenage boy.

The stallion did everything in his power, which was considerable as Dean remembered, to throw his ass. Finally, hot, sweaty and both of them ready to quit, the stallion reared, one last-ditch effort to get the boy off, and Dean wasn't quite ready but he threw his weight forward, trying to compensate for the upward motion of the horse and bring him back down on all fours. What happened then was a blur. The stallion lost his balance, unable to carry the off-kilter weight of Dean or maybe just pissed as hell and determined to get the kid off. No one would really know, but he fell over backwards and hit the ground hard with Dean pinned under him.

It should have been okay then, because Lord knows, horses don't stay down in that situation. Dean might have been hurt or bruised or hell, even had gotten a busted leg. The stallion should have scrambled up, should have gotten to his feet and maybe drug Dean around by the stirrup or something.

But he didn't.

Dean remembered the moon was bright and he was breathin' hard and there was 1200 pounds of horse laying on his leg. But there was no heavy breathing from the black. No frantic scramble for footing, no thrash of a horse hurt and down and struggling to regain his feet.

There was nothing.

Just the dark pool of blood under his body and the terrible weight of the horse on his leg.

In the wave of pain and panic Dean had thought he had seen something. A wolf maybe. He could see the yellow eyes melting into the tree line. But then every thing just faded into darkness.

It was Sam who found him. How in the hell did he know? What made his 13-year-old brother wake up from a deep sleep and run out to the corral? Dean could never figure that out but Sam was there, cradling his brother and yelling for help.

The docs didn't think he would make it. Figured he'd loose the leg at least. They threw around words like massive trauma and significant blood loss and if it hadn't been for his father and the fact that he refused to let them amputate, he would be without a leg at all. Through it all his father was there. Day and night he ran a vigil in the downstairs bedroom. It was a long, long time before they thought that Dean would live, longer still that he would ever walk, but Winchester toughness runs deep.

Dean was out of it a lot. Pain. Morphine. Pain. He could never be sure exactly what he remembered after the accident. Bits and pieces.

One thing he could never figure out was why his dad slept in his room at night with a loaded shotgun across his lap.

"Because he was protecting you, Dean."

Dean shot his head up. Did he say that last part out loud?

"Protecting me? From what? Myself? This?" Dean taps his leg hard, welcomes the sharp pain and growls low. "This is my fuckin' fault. I just had to go out and prove I could beat that damn horse. Me. Not Pa. Not even the fuckin' horse. All. Me."

Bobby shakes his head. "No, Dean. It's not just that. You were old enough then, strong enough and your daddy was fixin' to tell you. See, there's this gun, made by Sam Colt and it can kill anything. It can kill what killed your Ma and your Pa heard of it that summer. But he couldn't leave. You were too sick, too close to dead, your daddy couldn't take a chance."

"And now?" Dean prompts.

"Well, the ranch is doin' good. You got a handle on it. Sam is… was safe at school. Your Pa got word it was back and now he's goin' after it."

"What about me, Bobby? Why'd he leave me here?"

Bobby coughs once and it ain't like him to be embarrassed. "I guess he just figured you'd be better off watchin' the place. Keepin' things running here."

"Fuck that. Fuck him! He figured I couldn't do it, right? Figured me and this bum leg would be better off sitting home while he's off playing Ranger and killing the shit that hurt my family. It ain't happenin' Bobby. I may be a fuckin' cripple but I'm not worthless. I can do this. " He looks pointedly at Sam. "We can do this."

Dean is so mad that he wants nothing better than to take a swing at somebody. He doesn't get real angry real often, and he's surprised at himself but it feels good. He feels good. He looks at Sam. Sam's eyes are bright with whisky but he's not out of it. His glance meets Dean's solidly from across the table. He curls his lip up, part snarl, and part grin.

"Well then, I reckon we got a job to do, Dean."


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Revelations  
>Author: Saberivojo<br>Characters: Cowboy!Sam, Cowboy!Dean, Cowboy!Bobby  
>Summary: Cowboy!AU – follow up to Put Away Wet Cowboy!AU Put Away Wet<p>

XX

It turns out that Bobby Singer knows quite a bit about hunting. It turns out that he ain't letting Sam or Dean leave until he's imparted as much knowledge as he can.

Which is making Dean a little crazy but there's not much he can do about it.

Salt repels a lot of nasty things, iron too. Silver and holy water are high on the list. It occurs to Dean that Pa has set this ranch up like a fucking supernatural trap. All the iron fixtures that Dean always figured were just aesthetics take a new meaning. Bobby shows him specific sigils tucked away under rugs and etched into oak, floorboards that lift and are full of goofer dust. Salt poured carefully under window board and around sashes. Hell, the damn house is reinforced with iron and how fuckin' hard was that to do?

It makes Dean feel kind of stupid. Where was he while all this was going on?

Bobby heads to the library, the only place on the ranch that's one hundred percent Pa's. The library is off-limits, always had been. Being called to the library meant you were in deep shit, so neither boy wanted to be there anyway. But it's just a room and Dean is all grown-up now so he wonders why his belly still does a flip when he steps into the richly paneled room. The falter in his stride has nothing to do with his bad leg.

It smells of Pa. Whiskey, cigar smoke, old books, and something so intrinsically his father that Dean can almost see him standing behind the big desk. Sam is a half step behind and even though Dean can't see him, he knows his brother feels like he does.

This is Pa's place.

Bobby seems to have no issues with the library whatsoever. He runs his hands down a line of books, lingers at one, passes it and moves to another. He pulls it out of the bookshelf. Oddly enough, it's not dusty.

"You boys bring this with you. Read it when you can. There's a lot of stuff in it that can help. But I want you both to know this exorcism inside and out." Bobby opens it up and taps a page that's been dog-eared from use. "Your daddy knows this one by heart but his Latin ain't as good as Sam's and ya'll can never tell who's gonna need to step up to the plate. So learn it. Know it. "

Then Bobby walks to their father's desk and opens the top drawer and reaches underneath. His had goes unerringly to something under the drawer and Dean hears a subtle click, then watches as a hidden drawer slides out. Both Dean and Sam exchange looks, neither one quite able to get a handle on all of this. Bobby picks up a leather-backed journal. He slaps it on the desk with some force. There's a clasp and a strap of leather that holds it together, but other than that it seems pretty non-descript.

"This right here, is your Daddy's journal. Everything he's ever run into, all the supernatural shit he's ever hunted is in here. " Bobby looks at both Sam and Dean then drops his voice is a little lower; he means them to listen. "This right here is your bible, boys, and y'all better learn it chapter and verse."

Dean nods his head. The whole damn situation doesn't make a lot of sense. Salt, iron, exorcisms and journals? He says as much to Bobby. Bobby gives Dean a wry smile that doesn't quite go up to his eyes.

"Well, you're the one who asked, kid. You Winchestered your way into this damn thing whether I wanted it or not."

"Yeah, but Bobby. All of this?"

Bobby just offers an amused grimace. "This is your pa, Dean. You know him better than anybody."

Dean can't help but say what's on his mind at that moment. "I thought I knew him better than anybody,"

Bobby scowls and then tips his head in Dean's direction. "C'mon Dean, when in the hell did he ever tell you anything anyway?"

Dean can't argue with that one. But he can hear Sam's snort from behind him. It seems as though Sam has more than a few choice words to say even if Dean doesn't.

But Sam holds his tongue, something that Dean is incredibly thankful for. Right now he doesn't want to have a knockdown drag-out with his brother.

"Look boys, this ain't easy. Ain't easy for me and it sure ain't easy for you but if you're hell-bound to follow your daddy than it's gotta be done."

"Okay Bobby." Dean rumbles. "Let's get to work."

XX

They plan on leaving early and traveling light. They carry Pa's journal and the big book of Latin and supernatural shit. They're armed to the teeth, rifles, shotguns, handguns and silver knives strapped to boots. Mac carries Dean's cane, his favorite Spencer repeating rifle and extra salt. Howard has extra dry rations. They both divvy up ammo, the rest of the guns and their own bedrolls. They figure they'll hunt whatever comes their way, both in terms of dinner and evil things.

Bobby insists on riding with the boys to the end of the property line of the Rocking W. He huffs some kind excuse about needing to check the fence line anyway, but Dean can see that Sam can barely contain a lopsided grin.

"You know boys, your daddy picked this land special. For a lot of reasons." Dean swivels expectantly towards Bobby. "It's great land to raise cattle. Boys too." Bobby doesn't look at either Winchester as he rides, and Dean has a brief flash of growing up here. Hard work, long lazy days of swimming holes and freedom. It's a strange combination. He glances quickly at Sam. Sam's memories don't always agree with Dean's but he figures Sam might be able to remember some good stuff too.

Bobby squints into the early morning sun and nods toward the surrounding land.

"This land is blessed by the locals. Some folks don't hold with Injun magic, but your daddy does. He figures they been around these parts longer than us. Those folks might just know a little more than they're willin' to share. Your daddy convinced them he was worth teachin' about the old ways. That John Winchester can be a smooth talker when he wants to."

Sam purses his lips. "I don't remember too much smooth talkin' with Pa, Bobby. Just a lot of "Get your butt over here when I tell ya, Sam.' Or 'Hustle up, we ain't got all day.' Sometimes there was that famous, 'Ain't worth doin' if you don't do it right' speech.' I think I heard that a million times."

Bobby nods at Sam. "Well, I never did say your pa was a patient man, Sam. Doesn't mean he didn't know what he was talkin' about."

They pull up three abreast; Sam, Dean and Bobby. Bobby leans forward in the saddle and pins are sharp look at Sam. "That 'doin' it right speech', might save your ass some day. You remember that when you're tired and don't feel like cleanin' your gun. Or maybe ya don't take the extra time to give old Howard the once over, and he throws a shoe. All you're gonna have out there is each other, these horses and the fact that you two can out shoot and out ride just about anything"

Sam drops his head just a bit at the lecture but Dean can see a smile on his lips.

"What's so funny, kid?" Bobby growls low but there's no heat. Sam keeps on grinning and it's all Dean can do not to reach across the short space between them to clip his brother upside the head.

"Nothin' Bobby." Sam drops his head again but doesn't even try to stop the smile

Suddenly Dean barks a laugh, because it is kind of funny. They're off to chase down his father, a man who hunts supernatural shit like other folks hunt deer. Their weapons include salt and a book of Latin. Now Bobby's lecturing them over cleanin' guns and takin' care of horses. They've been doin' both all of their lives.

Bobby takes a deep breath and looks Dean in the eye.

"You watch out for your brother, Dean."

Sam groans. "I'm right here, Bobby."

The saddle creaks as Bobby leans forward again and catches Sam's eye. "Yeah, and I was gonna say, Sam, make sure you watch out for Dean too, ya idjit."

Dean can see a bit of red travel up his brother's cheeks. It's funny how a gentle reprimand by Bobby hits Sam a lot harder than his father's hard right hand.

"Sorry, Bobby."

Bobby's gaze flickers from Dean to Sam. "You boys are sure about this? Your daddy ain't gonna be too happy to see your faces. I'm not sure what's gonna be worse, meetin' up with that demon or meetin' up with your daddy."

Now it is Dean's turn to smile. He figures that Bobby is probably not too far off the mark but it doesn't matter. His Pa needs their help whether he thinks so or not. He looks over at his brother sitting easily on Howard. "Hell, Bobby. We have a plan. We got this."

"Plan? You call this a plan? Ain't much of a plan boys."

"Well, it's good enough." Dean speaks low, almost as an afterthought.

Bobby offers a half snort, half grunt but jerks his head southward.

"Get on outta here before I change my mind or come up with something else ya need to know."

"Yes, sir." Dean clucks to Mac and asks the big black to move out at a lope. Sam does the same and a moment later they're heading off the ranch, finally heading for Pa.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Put Away Wet - Base Camp – Chapter 5

Author: Saberivojo

Characters: Cowboy!Sam and Cowboy!Dean

Summary: The boys are trailing their dad. It's the wild and wooly West, circa 1700s

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just like playing with the boys.

XX

For a moment Dean tries to pretend it's just him and Sammy out on a regular hunt, like the year before Sam went to college and there was a rogue bear slicing and dicing up cattle. Pa had been out of town and Bobby had had his hands full running the ranch so it had fallen on the boys to hunt it. It had been two weeks of tracking and riding. He and Sam had acted like fools - free from their father's work ethic and rules. But when they found that damn bear it had been all business then. They had worked like a team and took the bear out without a scratch on either one of them. Sam had been barely 17 but he had handled himself like the hunter he was been raised to be. In an unusual turn of events, even Pa had been proud, pounding Sam on the back and tipping his hat in Dean's direction.

Dean hopes to hell this hunt has the same outcome.

Dean leads Mac back to camp and Sam follows with Howard. They rub both horses down, run hands down their legs checking for heat or swelling and both do a careful check of hooves. Dean can hear his father's mantra.

_No hoof, no horse, Dean. _

Satisfied that both horses are sound and doing well, Dean turns out Mac. Sam does the same for Howard. Mac won't go anywhere and Howard won't leave Mac so both horses free graze just outside of the fire's glow.

Dean settles up against his saddle, stretches out his bad leg with a hiss. Sam is too smart to mention it but he pours Dean a cup of coffee liberally laced with good Irish whiskey.

Dean takes it gratefully and shifts his weight. Sam settles by the fire and pokes it with a long stick, making the sparks swirl and spiral upward on the blast of heat.

"So, Dean." Sam starts, "Pa's last contact with Bobby said that he had a handle on The Colt. He thought it might be up in these mountains. Doesn't that seem a little odd to you? Why would someone take a gun that could kill anything and hide it up there?" Sam nods toward the low mountains. They probably have at least a half-day climb. But it looks rideable from where Dean is sitting. The thought of having to leave Mac behind is something that Dean plain refuses to deal with.

"Hide it maybe?" Dean ventures then rolls his shoulders, feeling a lot older than he is, "I mean, if you had a gun that could do what this gun is supposed to be able to do, don't you think you would want to keep it for yourself?"

Sam nods tightly, and his shaggy head bows in the shadows of the fire. He makes a tsking sound, something that Dean associates only with Sam. It's part recrimination, part pissed off and is laced with a tad of self-righteousness that Sam has always had the market on.

"Dean, this gun, this whole situation…" Sam starts and then lets it trail off. Dean watches the set of Sam's shoulders, sees his brother bounce his knees in agitation. They may be sitting by a campfire but the shadows don't hold any secrets for Dean.

The kid is an open book.

True to form, Sam doesn't wait too long before he starts up again. He's had a couple of days to move from simmer to boil and Sam is usually on a banked fire when it comes to their father anyway.

Finally, almost anticlimactically Sam stands abruptly, drops the stick and brushes his hands against denim. "Dean, doesn't this just piss the hell out of you? Pa has been living this secret life and we never knew? We've got magical guns and silver and consecrated rounds. We're carrying salt." He pauses. "A seasoning for chrissakes. There are werewolves and vampires and ghosts. There are fuckin' demons. _Demons, Dean! _Doesn't this strike you as buckets of crazy?"

Dean presses the heel of his palm to his eye. He thinks he might be getting a headache.

"Now Pa's gone and we're just tryin' to get up to snuff so that we can maybe, just maybe help him out? Wouldn't it have been better for him to fill us in before? You know, before all of this?" Sam throws his hands out, and they slap loudly against his thighs on the return trip back. It is a gesture that reflects both his anger and frustration.

"I dunno, Sam. " Dean's tired. He and Sam have done this dance before. Well, not exactly the same thing. The steps are familiar but the situation has changed a bit. However, move a word or two around and forget about the supernatural stuff and really this is the same conversation that they've had for years.

"The old man does what he does for a reason." Dean tries to make it sound final. Tries to put some older brother growl in it. Sometimes that's the only way to shut Sam down.

Sam snorts and throws an angry glance at Dean. Dean can feel him starting to get a head of steam up about it.

"You mean you're okay with this?" Sam curls his lip, he looms over his brother but Dean doesn't rise to the bait. Not physically or figuratively. Dean remains calm, hands curled around his coffee cup. He keeps his voice as quite as possible. Big brother voice soothing little brother. This too is part of the game.

"No, Sam. Not okay with it. Why do you think we're trailing after him like hound dogs? You said it before, he doesn't want us with him. He doesn't want _me _with him." The last sentence holds the tiny edge of anger and the hint of ache. It is barely imperceptible but there. But it doesn't register with Sam. That too is typical of his brother. Sam can be intuitive as hell but sometimes he can also be dumber than a log.

Dean doesn't feel it's necessary to bring it to his attention.

Sam's voice rises a bit. "Dean, you? He doesn't want _you_ with him? It's me he doesn't want. I'm the one he's pissed at. This is the same old bullshit we've been dealing with forever. I mean, this hunting for Pa…?" Sam shakes his head and purses his lips. It is not quite a sneer but it is close. "Truth is, when we find Pa, I don't even know if he's gonna wanna see me."

Dean isn't quite sure what to make of Sam's head tilt. The roll of his eyes. They are Winchesters after all they don't talk about stuff like this. Sam's hurt and angry too but that's his default. Part of Dean just wants to tell him to shut up and stop acting like a 12-year-old girl. But a bigger part understands. Sammy and Pa's last fight had been memorable. And while no one walked away bloody, Sam had walked away.

Pa had let him go and Dean hadn't stopped him.

Dean considers it for a moment.

"Don't worry, little brother. With both of us buckin' him and ignoring his orders he's likely to tear us both new ones. Since I'm the oldest, I reckon I may be drawn and quartered as well. " Dean allows a smile to play on his face. "No, he isn't gonna want to see either one of us. But we are stronger together. He just has to realize that. We have to make him realize that."

Sam laughs but it is a hollow, mirthless sound.

"Since when does he have to realize anything Dean. We're his kids. He's the boss, we follow his orders without question. The first time one of us steps out of line, he's all over uslike spots on a heifer**.** I am so past this shit."

_Yeah right Sammy._

Sam settles at the fire and turns his back to Dean, a not so subtle sign that he really is done with talking. Dean smiles a little to himself, because Sam is the one who started the conversation and Sam is the one who wants to have the last word.

The shit he puts up with from his brother.

Dean leans back against his saddle, feels the leather creak with his weight. The coffee has cooled a bit but the whisky still burns as he takes another sip. He watches as his little brother makes a spot for himself at the fire. Dean notices that Sam keeps his gun hand free and slides his bowie under the slicker that serves as his pillow. Yeah, his brother might still be a kid, but he's a Winchester through and through. Sam isn't taking any chances.

_Good boy._

He has tonight to think about a game plan, what will work best for him and Sam, because tomorrow? Well, Dean is not really sure what tomorrow will bring, but if he's played his cards right he figures they might just meet up with their father.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Reunited  
>Author: Saberivojo<br>Characters: Cowboy!Sam and Cowboy!Dean AU  
>Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just like playing with the boys.<br>Summary: Cowboy!AU Sam and Dean find Pa

XX

Dean wakes early, just before the sun starts to rise. Sam's still sleeping and Dean can't help but watch for a moment. Sam's face is slack and he looks all of thirteen again. The kid is really out. It's a good thing, Dean figures. Sam has always had nightmares. What he dreams about he doesn't talk about, so on the rare occasions that he sleeps well, Dean just takes it as a gift.

Dean stretches, rolls his shoulders a time or two then decides that while Sam is sleeping, he's gonna make his way to the stream. Coffee sounds good, but so does a quick bath. Dean takes an experimental whiff of his underarms, grimaces and figures that the few minutes he spends in the stream will be worth it.

He makes his way to the water. Walking without Mac as his legs is always a chore. Clambering down a slippery water into the stream is not something he is looking forward to, but despite unevenness of the terrain he manages to get down to the water in one piece. Dean steps up to the stream with a slow, hitching gait and fills the coffee pot and then sets it on the bank. He pulls his off his shirt, boots and jeans. His union suit comes next. It feels almost as dirty as he does, but doing laundry isn't likely to happen any time soon so he drops it on the ground with a shake. He shivers once in the early morning air, balls tightening with the cold. Dean never thinks too much about his right leg and the silvery scars that run jagged down his hip. It is a much a part of him as Sammy. But today it catches his eye, spidery raised and puckered flesh that somehow hurts even before he steps into the frigid water. One more stagger step and he is in the stream. He gingerly moves out into deep water and then settles with a splash .

Dean hurries; the water is mountain fed and cold but except for sharp ache of his leg, it feels good. He holds his breath and dunks his head under then uses a little bit of sand to scrub around his neck and head. He lifts his head from under the water and shakes it once like a dog. From the bank he hears a wolf whistle – Sam is standing on the bank dropping trou and heading out to the deepest part of the stream.

"Take you and your stink downstream, Sam!" But Dean laughs as his brother gives a splash in his general direction and settles not too far from Dean.

"Damn, it's cold," Sam protests as the icy water grabs his balls. But Dean just laughs again.

"Well, princess, after we find Pa and stop at a town, we'll get you a fancy bath with hot water and perfumed soap."

Dean gives himself a final shake and then heads back to his clothes. They feel even grungier after the bath, but there is nothing he can do about that. He picks up the water for coffee and makes his way slowly back to camp. First coffee, then he fixes a breakfast of hard biscuits and the leftovers of last night's rabbit dinner. It would be easier, he figures to let Sammy help. The up and down is hard on his leg but he bites the bullet and grits his teeth. _It's fucking breakfast, he can do fucking breakfast. _Dean wonders briefly if he should rustle up some more game, but decides he'd rather be a little hungry than risk a shot echoing up and around the mountain. That's all he needs to have their father realize they are coming and for him to cut and run before they get there. That gives Dean a moment's pause, because Pa's not afraid of anything… so why is he so afraid to have his sons join him on this hunt?

Sam gets back from the stream and they eat quietly and then break camp. They move quickly and efficiently, packing away the meager supplies and re-distributing the weight between both horses. Sam carefully douses the campfire and Dean nods approvingly. It's satisfying to see that despite Sam's years away, he's as good on the trail as he ever was.

Dean tacks up Mac as Sam does the same for Howard. He steps his left leg in the stirrup and attempts to swings his right over the saddle. He must be a little tired because he doesn't quite make it over the cantle, which is frustrating but not unexpected. Dean muscles his leg over and grimaces as the typical ache arcs to a stab and then dissipates. Could be worse he figures, he could not be able to ride at all.

He nods to Sam, already sitting easily on Howard.

"C'mon little brother, let's find Pa."

XX

The climb is a little tougher than Dean expected, but Mac is up to it and Dean just allows him to pick his way up the side of the mountain. It's typical terrain for high hill country, some brush and scrub with occasional steep sheer cliffs that make for challenging footing. But the stallion is as sure-footed as a mountain goat and Dean relaxes into the saddle, trusting that Mac can find his way. Sam is riding point – the kid has always been an amazing tracker and Dean defers to his little brother's skills. Sam pulls up Howard and then drops his reins, Howard standing still with his ears tipped forward. Sam's eyes glance hard at the ground and then he decides to take a closer look. He dismounts easily and allows the reins to trail on the dirt. Howard stands quietly and drops his head low and snuffles the ground hard. Sam steps in front of Howard then settles back on his boots, his hand gently sifting through the rocks and brambles. Sam turns triumphantly toward Dean with a dark strand of horsehair.

"Well, we got a horse shod all way around and what looks like black horsehair. " Sam points to the distinctive tracks of horse shoes. He's right, whatever horse they are trailing, it's no barefoot Indian pony. "You told me that Pa's been favoring that blue roan mare so it could be her." Sam stands, brushes his hands across his thighs dismissively. "Whaddaya think?"

Dean leans forward in the saddle and tilts his head up a deer path that seems to be going the way Pa went.

"I think we better ride careful, Sam. He doesn't know we're comin' but that doesn't mean he isn't gonna be ready for someone. Nothin' like dodging buckshot to make a man twitchy." Dean means it: his father has always been a shoot first, ask questions later kind of man, which is a direct contradiction to other John Winchester platitudes.

_Better be damn sure you know what you are shootin' at boy. _

Still the lessons are ingrained in Dean and Sam as well. They grew up living, eating and breathing John Winchester so who better to track the man than them?

Sam picks up Howard's reins and steps into the saddle, and though the leather groans under his weight, Howard doesn't seem concerned. Sam clucks to the gelding and starts to head up the trail. Dean lifts Mac to a jog and moves out ahead of Sam, saying, "I got this, Sam." Sam shakes his head in agitation but allows Dean to move ahead.

"Why is your life always more expendable than mine, Dean?"

"Don't be all namby pamby, Sam. You track better, I hunt better. Besides, you and that 17 hand horse of yours make a bigger target."

"Great, so he'll pick you off and then nail me." Sam mutters.

"He ain't gonna shoot either one of us, he's not an idiot, Sam. "

Sam chuffs low in obvious disagreement and Dean allows it. This isn't the time or the place for discussions on their father and his apparent lack of brains. Which Dean doesn't buy into anyway. His father might kill them, but he sure as hell isn't gonna shoot them. Dean grimaces a bit as he realizes that particular thought is not as comforting as it should be.

An hour up the mountain, Dean stops so abruptly that Howard almost nails Mac in the ass.

"Shhhh, Sammy." It's an order, but low and quiet without the usual bark that often accompanies Winchester directives.

For his part, Sam doesn't say a word, doesn't start the incessant bitching that's often his go to-place when it comes to his brother and his brother's orders. They both stand their horses quietly at the edge of clearing. Dean strains his ears for a change in the surrounding sounds, listens to the continuous hum of insects and the scream of a blue jay. Mac is quiet under him but tense and Dean has learned to listen to the stallion, too, so he waits. The clearing looks normal but feels off and Dean is one to always follow his gut. He hears Howard shift his weight behind him and there is the soft jingle of his bit as the gelding tosses his head.

"Not too bad for a couple of wet-behind-the-ear kids." His father's voice comes from just ahead and to the right.

"Pa?"

XX

John Winchester steps out from behind a small outcropping, shotgun slung in apparent laziness that's belied by the obvious sense of purpose of his movements.

"Hey, boys." He sounds neither surprised nor terribly angry but his words are rumble dark. There is censure in those two words and Dean feels it as strongly as if his father has clipped him a hard one to the head.

"Don't tell me you two are taking a break from school and the ranch just to do a little brotherly bonding?" Pa growls the last few words and Dean straightens automatically, sitting his saddle as straight as any well-trained cavalry soldier.

"No, sir." His father doesn't want to hear more than that and right now Dean thinks it prudent to give the man what he wants. Sam, on the other hand, has no such compulsions.

"Pa, what the hell is going on? Dean and I need to know –"

John snaps his head at Sam and pins a dark glare at his youngest. "You need to know what I want you to know, when I want you to know it, Sam." His father leans on _Sam_; puts just enough emphasis on it to make a point.

Dean sends a sideways glance at Sam, tries to telegraph _shut the fuck up. _But Samhas moved Howard up a step or two so that he and Dean are riding two abreast. It is Sam's way of gathering strength from his brother as well as attempting to show a unified front to his father. It's never worked much in the past but Dean appreciates the thought anyway. Sam's voice is angry and reminds Dean of teenage Sam but that trip down memory lane is not a journey he wants to travel right now. "We deserve to know, Pa. About what you're hunting. About what _we're_ hunting. About the damn Colt. About everything."

Dean wonders briefly if Sam's foray into higher education has melted his brother's brain when it comes to their father. That's the only rationale he can think of, because John Winchester doesn't believe in taking orders from his children. He doesn't believe in taking orders from anyone. And while Dean agrees with the sentiment that Sam is attempting to express, he thinks his way of going about it is just plain stupid.

"Sam. We'll talk about it okay? Let's just give everyone a chance to take a breath. We'll figure this out." Dean's voice is soothing with just a hint of big brother edge. He needs to back Sam off right now before this little family reunion ends badly.

Sam plows ahead, unconcerned, needing to make his point. "Bobby told us about everything, Pa. Everything he knows. So you might as well fill us in on the rest."

John steps toward Sam and Dean figures that his father might just reach up and pull Sam off of Howard. Dean thinks wildly that pulling his big-ass brother off that big ass-horse is not going to be an easy task, but Pa doesn't make a move to grab his youngest and Dean is thankful for the atypical John Winchester restraint.

"So, Bobby Singer tells you a tale or two and you're ready to walk into this fists-up and half-cocked."

"No, sir. That's exactly why we need to talk." Sam contradicts his father easily, always has. Dean breathes hard. At least his brother has the common sense to throw the_ sir_ in.

"About what?" It's not really a question, more a demand. His father's pissed beyond belief and why Sam can't see that Dean will never know. Then again, maybe he sees it just fine.

"About everything." Then Sam slides out of the saddle effortlessly and steps toward his father. Dean would never be able to stop a possible fight on his own, but he has Mac, and with a brief shift of his weight and a nudge, the stallion moves away from Dean's good leg and over in between Sam and Pa.

"Move the fuckin' horse, Dean." His father is growling low, still holding the shotgun easily. He isn't looking at Dean but instead is glaring over the stallion's back at Sam.

"Yeah, Dean… listen to the old man, you do any other time." Sam is growling himself, although he doesn't quite have John Winchesters gravel-throated timbre.

"No." Dean's voice is sharp and then a moment later he tries for a slightly calmer approach. "Come on, we're all tired. It's been a hard ride. We can talk after we all cool down."

"Your brother's right, we don't have time for this." His father voice is steel. It is a dismissal. An order. _Shit._

Dean uses his heel to move Mac over another step to the right, to push his brother a little further away from his father, and Sam acquiesces and steps back, turns toward Howard ready to put his hand on the saddle horn and vault onto the big gelding. He mumbles low, "This is why I left in the first place."

John moves in scowling, places the shotgun up against a tree and clenches his fists. "What did you say?"

Sam turns around, ready to step back into his father's personal space, and he would, too, except for the fact that Dean and Mac are separating them. "You heard me."

"Yeah, you left. Your brother and me, we needed you and you left. You walked away, Sam. You walked away." His father isn't really shouting –John Winchester doesn't have to yell – but his voice is loud and laden with venom.

"You were the one who said don't come back, Pa. You were the one who closed that door, not me." Sam's voice rises. "You were just pissed off that you couldn't control me anymore!"

And then his father's stepping around Mac so fast that Dean doesn't adjust in time and Pa grabs Sam hard by the shirt. Despite the fact that Pa's a little shorter than Sam, he jerks Sam up to him like he's a featherweight. He gives his youngest a hard shake and it's that threat of bodily injury that does it for Dean.

Dean jumps off Mac, and the pain in his leg sears white-hot as he hits the ground hard but he ignores it to throw his body in between his father and his brother. He barely stifles the yelp, but the agony will be worth it if he can avoid a knock-down, drag-out fight. He manages to keep the strangled whisper of pain low in his throat.

"Stop it! That's enough!" It's loud and harsh and both men stop to stare at Dean. They both seem to realize simultaneously how rough the dismount must have been and that seems to be the deciding factor for backing down. Dean shoves Sam back toward Howard and nods tightly to his father. "You too."

His father glares hard at Dean, and though it's a look Dean has always tried to avoid, he holds his gaze. He can draw a line in the sand too, dammit. Then Pa shifts his eyes to Sam. He seems to make a decision.

"Mount up, boys. We have some hard riding to do."

Pa turns, picks up his shotgun and strides off to the middle of the clearing, probably heading to his mare. Dean is sure she's tied on the other side awaiting his father. Pa doesn't stop to see if his boys are following; it's expected they will. Dean knows there is no way they wouldn't be. Even Sam, maybe especially Sam, won't buck the old man now. There's too much at stake and Sam has been trained far better than that.

Sam spins to Howard and one-armed vaults himself onto the big gelding. It is almost as rough a mount as Dean's recent dismount and Howard grunts as Sam's weight settles in the saddle.

"Don't take it out on Howard, shit head." Dean grouses as he stagger-steps toward Mac. "That horse puts up with more of your shit than I do." But his voice lacks heart as he slowly pulls himself up onto Mac, a low groan escaping as he manhandles his leg around.

Dean shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Having his brother and his father together again is pretty much what he figured it would be. He's not so sure that Sam sees the eye roll but he doesn't much care anyway. At least they have found Pa.

_Well that certainly went well._

XX

Pa_ is _riding the blue roan mare. His father's always preferred mares to geldings, solid horses to paints, but just like everything else in Pa's life, form follows function and how pretty his horse looks doesn't matter one whit if she can't get the job done.

This mare looks like she can do that and more.

Dean can't help but allow his horseman's eye to run over her top line appreciatively. She is a big mare, she needs to be because his father is a big man but she is well proportioned. She has a long, sloping shoulder and powerful hindquarters. She is a blue roan alright, but her color is so clean throughout that she looks almost like a steel gray. It relaxes Dean, this careful appraisal of horse. He evaluates horses like some men evaluate woman. The roan mare passes the test but that's not surprising, his father wouldn't be riding her otherwise. Pa doesn't have time for horses who can't pull their weight. Which is exactly why they have some of the finest quarter horses in Texas at their ranch. Dean searches for her name – they run about 150 head at the Rocking W and except for new babies on the ground, each horse has a name. It makes Dean cringe a little that it takes a bit of mental shuffling before he finds the roan's name. Dean smiles to himself when it clicks. _Blue. Her name is Blue and why the hell was that so damn hard? _He figures the strain of the past few weeks has finally caught up with his brain.

Pa is riding point, Sam in the middle and Dean at drag. It's their standard formation whenever they all hunt together and that small detail gives Dean some comfort. Pa hasn't spoken since the almost-fight and thankfully neither has Sam. Dean offers a silent prayer to keep it that way, at least until his hot-headed father and brother can get their shit together. He can tell by the tight set of Sam's shoulders that his brother hasn't forgotten, though. A quick glance ahead of Sam and Dean can see that his father's shoulders mirror Sam's. Dean wonders if either one realizes how damn similar they are to each other. He snorts quietly to himself. Probably not.

Dean figures his father will fill them in when he wants them filled in and that's the best he can hope for right now. It's a shitty way to run a family but it's nothing new and there's nothing that Dean can do about it anyway.

They stop for a break and what passes for lunch. They loosen the girths of the horses and turn them loose to relax while the three Winchesters eat a cold lunch of dried beef and hardtack. It's palatable but barely, and Dean takes a bite then washes it down with water.

Sam has settled on a large rock, Dad is leaning up against another. Dean waits and watches as Sam nervously bounces his knee.

"So, Bobby told you everything huh?" Their father doesn't have any of the morning's growl in his voice.

"Yes, sir." Dean answers.

"Sonofabitch never could keep a secret." Pa doesn't sound particularly mad.

"Well, he kept your secret for twenty years. I'm thinkin' the man did a pretty good job." Sam is bristling just a bit.

And for some reason that seems to break the ice. Pa looks hard at Sam and then he softens and a small smile plays on his face.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Bobby Singer has kept a lid on things for quite a while. Still, don't think he and I aren't gonna have a little chat when we get home."

Dean smiles too. "I don't think I wanna be there when you two old bulls decide to lock horns."

"Who are you callin' old, boy?" Pa grins again and it feels good. Dean breathes a slow sigh. This is the man he knows. As much as the world sees a tough pain-in-the-ass, his father isn't always a dick.

"So what's the game plan, Pa?" Dean asks quietly. The timing is right, he can feel it.

"The colt is up here, Dean. Up in these mountains. A man by the name of Daniel Elkins has it. "

"So who's this Daniel Elkins?" Sam's voice holds none of his earlier anger and his father reacts in kind. They're two peas in a pod, Dean thinks again.

"He's a good man and he taught me a lot about hunting. Daniel knows his way around a hunt, knows his way around, period. But he's a little long in the tooth, too old to be fighting, and the man needs to hang up his hunting rifle. That's gonna be our ace in the hole boys."

"So that's the plan? We're gonna snake-oil the gun away from an old man? Or better yet, ride in there like outlaws, kill gramps and steal the gun? Don't you think we're comin' in pretty well armed three to one against one old man?" Sam's voice starts to hold just a touch of pissiness.

Pa's eyes glint dangerously. "Just because I said he was old doesn't mean he's a pushover, Sam. Daniel Elkins has forgotten more about hunting then you'll ever know. He's smart and he wants to kill this bastard almost as much as I do, and that's what I'm countin' on." 


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: This is the last completed chapter but Chapter 8 is almost together…it might take a little bit before an update. Hope you enjoy!**

They mount back up and head further up the mountain, each man holding his own thoughts close to his vest. _Well, Pa's holding them closer. _ But that's nothing new and really, Dean wouldn't expect anything else from the man. There's very little talking, there's no need for it. Sam and Dean have grown up hunting, not demons of course, but moving quietly on a trail is expected. Of the two men who spent most of their time teaching the boys to hunt, Bobby was probably more talkative than their pa but that wasn't saying much.

Trying to figure out Pa's game plan is like trying to milk a bull. Ain't never gonna happen and if you should get close to where you need to be, you're likely to get your ass kicked, so fretting about it is a lesson in futility. Besides, they all need to be riding watchful-like, and letting your mind wander to things it can't change is just dumb. Still, Dean watches the set of his brother's broad shoulders, and he can see the tension in the way he rides. Sam is worrying on it, mulling it around in that big old college brain of his. It's years of training and riding trail with their father that keeps Sam's mouth in check. That and the fact that his brother ain't stupid, just a mouthy sonofabitch. So they ride quiet.

"Boys."

His father's voice is low and quiet. Both Sam and Dean pull up quickly.

"Daniel's place is another mile or so up ahead, so you ride careful. There's a break in the trees and a small meadow, you both make sure you stay well back, he's likely to start shooting first. He ain't likely to care much if it's me or not, in fact, he might just aim a little better if he figures I'm on the other end of his sights."

"Sounds like somebody who knows you pretty well, Pa." Sam's voice is dripping with disrespect. He's managed to get himself worked up pretty good during the ride up here. That's typical Sam. The more time he has to mull shit over, the worse he gets.

Their father turns over his shoulder and levels a dark gaze at Sam. Then opts for an additional presence as he turns Blue around his leg, both mare and man facing Sam. "You watch your mouth, boy. Don't think for one minute I won't clean your plow just 'cause you think you've grown a pair of brass ones."

There must be an ounce of self-preservation in Sam, 'cause he snorts once but manages to grind out a yes, sir. And although no one believes for one second that Sam is actually agreeing with Pa, they all opt for the path of least resistance. Dean had hoped this would be different, hoped his father and his brother could back off long enough to get done what needs to be done. But Sam's time away might have made him even more self-righteous than before, and Pa? Well, he wouldn't change if his life depended on it. Dean grits his teeth and finds himself unconsciously rubbing his leg. As if that will take away the ache that hurts far deeper than any physical pain he has ever felt.

Pa looks hard again at Sam, and Dean watches as Sam holds his father's gaze. It's not quite a pissing contest, because Sam has already deferred, but it's close.

"C'mon, Pa. Let's do this huh?" Dean tries for a little light hearted but it comes out shaky at best. Pa doesn't like being pushed by either boy so Dean knows he's taking a chance. Still better him than Sammy.

Instead of answering, Pa wheels the blue mare around like he's chasing down an errant calf and he sends her up the narrow path at a strong lope.

Sam offers a quick look at Dean. Dean's not sure if it's apologetic, thankful, or angry, but they both scramble to follow their father through the trees.

XX

They stop in the trees, just before the little clearing, all three men sitting quietly in the saddle. Pa is in the middle, Dean on his right and Sam on his left. The air is still and hot, Dean feels the sweat dripping between his shoulder blades, pooling at his belt line. Sam's got to be hotter, the kid sweats just standing still. Dean can see the tiny cabin pushed back into the woods at the end of the meadow, but only because he knows it is there. It's carefully concealed using the terrain and natural backdrop of a small cliff.

"It looks like your buddy Daniel ain't takin' any chances with his place." Sam is speaking quietly, just above a whisper.

"Yup, Daniel's a smart sonofabitch." His father nods briefly to a tree they're standing next to. Dean recognizes one of the sigils that's in the book in his saddle bag etched into the tree. Dean can't make head or tails of it, but it's obviously been there a long time. "Daniel's made sure this place ain't gonna be found easily by man or beast," John says, and then, quieter: "Watch your step, boys."

Suddenly, a gunshot sounds and a bullet slams into the tree not two feet from Dean. Mac jumps a little to the left, banging himself into Blue. The mare stands solid, though, pins her ears at the impact. It shocks Dean just a moment, but his weight settles Mac and moment later all three Winchesters are standing quietly despite the echo of the gunshot.

"You at the trees, get your asses off my property."

His father said the man was old but his voice sounds strong enough from where Dean is sitting.

"Daniel, it's me, John Winchester!" His father bellows from his left. There is quiet then but it doesn't feel peaceful in any way, shape or form. Then another gunshot this time directly above his father's head. Pa doesn't even twitch.

"Now, Daniel…there's no need to get your back up. Put that old Henry away and let's set a spell." There's no response from the cabin.

Pa casually takes his hat off, mops his brow with his handy bandana. He yells toward the cabin, "Daniel, it's hotter than a whorehouse on nickel night! How about a little hospitality and some water at least."

Maybe it's the reminder that cowboys take care of their own, or maybe it's just that Daniel Elkins takes pity on the three horses that stand right outside of his meadow, hot and sweaty after the climb up the mountain, but Dean is happy to hear Daniel's sharp report from the house.

"Come on in, Winchester."

Pa tips his hat toward the cabin and keeps his gaze straight ahead. "You boys stick close, y'hear?"

"Yes, sir." Tandem voices, inflection exactly the same.

They ride slowly to the cabin. Pa rides easy and both boys take their cue from him. Daniel Elkins may want to shoot their father, but right now the old man has decided to let sleeping dogs lie.

They pull up three abreast. Pa dismounts first, followed by Sam. Dean waits to see how it's gonna play out. He'd rather be on Mac than on the ground if Daniel Elkins decides to change his mind. Pa hands the reins of the blue mare to Sam as Elkins steps out onto the porch. He's shadowed by a medium black and white dog, and the dog stands near his side, her body touching his. Dean figures his Pa notices, same as Sam. Observation has been drilled in them since they were old enough to sleep out of a crib.

His father steps up to the porch, offers a handshake to Elkins. Daniel almost ignores it, but finds his father's hand and pumps once. The dog drops her head and Dean can't help but notice the flash of teeth as she lifts a lip in his father's direction.

"Kip." Daniel is sharp and the dog stops and stands quietly next to his right leg.

By way of introduction, Pa nods to Sam and then Dean, still sitting on Mac. "These are my boys, Sam and Dean. Boys, Daniel Elkins."

Both boys offer a dutiful "Sir." But no more than that.

Daniel eyes them both up and Dean's not so sure he hasn't been found wanting. But all three nod to each other and then Daniel tips his head specifically at Sam. "Turn 'em out in the paddock out back. There's some hay and water there." Dean notices that Sam barely stops the eye roll at being made stable boy but he quietly holds Blue and Howard and makes himself available for Dean in case he decides to dismount. Dean ignores him, deciding instead to ride Mac around back to the paddock where he can dismount with only Sam around. Sam seems to pick up on Dean's reluctance and follows his brother around to the back of the cabin.

Just like Daniel said, there's a corral with hay and fresh water. Sam untacks Howard and Blue but stands close by Mac in case Dean needs help. It kind of pisses Dean off, but he appreciates his brother's concern. His earlier dismount to stop his father and brother from fighting has cost him dearly and he reaches for the flask that he keeps in his vest pocket. Dean takes a quick swig and the whiskey burns a trail down his throat. Mac stands quietly as Dean slowly drags his right leg over the cantle. There is a brief moment where he thinks he might loose his balance, but his left leg is strong and he steadies in the stirrup. It's clumsy and pathetic but he manages to get off Mac without too much problem. On the ground he leans heavily on the horse, clutching the saddle horn and taking a few deep breaths before backing away from the comforting feel of the stallion beneath his body.

"I'll untack him, and turn him out, Dean. How 'bout you take five."

For some reason it pisses Dean off even more. "I don't need your fucking help, Sam. I can take care of my own horse."

Sam raises his hands, universal sign of little brother backing down and instead runs his hands down the other two horses legs, checking for swelling or anything unusual. It's not busy work, but again, Dean is aware that Sam is waiting for him. Sam leads Howard and Blue to the pole corral, drops two top rails and leads both horses over the lowest portion then turns them loose. Dean loosens the girth drags the saddle off Mac and flips the saddle pad over the railing sweat side up. Then he leads Mac over the poles as well. It is a chore to step over the pole, but he isn't going to back down. Mac drops his head and Dean slides the bridle off and drapes it over the saddle horn on the fence, takes another halting step out of the corral and then puts both poles back up. Dean steps around to the saddle, using the fence as a brace and pulls his cane out. He has a love-hate relationship with the damn thing. But when Mac isn't around it gives him a measure of independence that he might not otherwise have.

Despite being hungry, Mac trots to the middle of the corral and lays down in the dust, rolling his sweaty body in the dirt and trying to shift his heavy weight from one side to another. Sam and Dean lean on the post together and both smile at the stallion.

"That always cracks my ass up, watching him roll around like a puppy." Sam bumps a little into Dean's shoulder. For a brief moment, it's just Sam and Dean watching Mac act like a colt, and it feels more than good to Dean, it feels like home.

_Damn, he has missed his brother._

But they both have a job to do, so watching Mac act like a fool won't get them any closer to finding the Colt.

They walk together to the front of the cabin, and once again Dean is impressed with the construction. This cabin isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Dean takes his time going up the steps and Sam stays with him, not touching but nearby in case Dean needs a hand. Dean smiles a little to himself – Sam learned quick not to try grab Dean's arm while navigating steps, or anything else for that matter. Dean's leg may be fucked up, but he has a mean right hook.

They open the door to the cabin, Dean first, Sam a half-step behind. Their father and Daniel are sitting around a bottle of whiskey at a rough hewed kitchen table. The black and white dog is curled protectively around Daniel's feet but her eyes are open and she watches them as they step into the cabin.

Daniel turns toward the boys, glances up and down twice and then turns to their father. "Are they even old enough to drink?"

"Well, they think they are." His father rumbles low but there is a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Pa." Dean tries to sound affronted. It would be just like his father to not even let them drink with him and Daniel. Send Sam and Dean out on the front porch with a bucket of milk. But his father just smiles and gestures to the two empty chairs at the table. Sam takes the seat furthest away and Dean takes the one closest to the door.

Daniel watches as Sam folds himself onto the chair.

"Whatcha put in his water, John? I figured you'd have yourself a few big boys but that one looks like he's grizzly sized."

Dad smiles again and Sam drops his head, a brief blush creeping up his face. But there is no meanness in Daniel's voice, just a bit of light-hearted humor.

"Yeah, sometimes he's too big for his britches though," Pa cuts a quick look at Sam then another at Dean. "They both are."

Daniel laughs then and it's Dean's turn to blush. Dean knows his father may have accepted the fact that his boys showed up to hunt for this damn Colt, but he's none to happy about it. Dean figures he should be happy the fact that the old man didn't send them packing back down the trail.

Daniel fumbles a bit with the glasses, but pours a hefty shot for both Sam and Dean. Dean takes it gratefully, swallows it down with barely a moment's hesitation. Pa levels him a dark look and Dean has the common sense to look a little chagrined.

"Sorry."

"Don't be, boy," Daniel states and pours another drink for Dean. But Dean doesn't touch it, despite the ache in his leg. He figures listening to his pa's lecture about drinking and working on a job just ain't worth the comfort of the whiskey.

"So, John, what makes you think I have the Colt. And if I did, what makes you think I'd give her to you."

His father touches the silver wedding ban on his left hand, spins it unconsciously around his roughened finger. "You knew Mary. You know what happened to her. Ain't that reason enough?"

"We all got reasons for taking on this life, John. Your girl was a good one, sure 'nough, but I got things I aim to kill before I die and that gun's gonna do it for me."

"That gun ain't gonna do a damn thing for you, Daniel, you can barely see as it is… Do you think you're gonna be able to track and then shoot a fucking demon?"

Dean stops and looks hard at Daniel and for the first time he notices the man's watery blue eyes.

"You mean you were shooting at us and you're blind as a bat?" Dean's gone from kind of liking the old guy to wanting to kick his ass, right here in the old man's cabin. Right in front of his father, his brother and the black and white dog.

"I can see well enough to kick you, your big-ass brother and pain in the ass father the hell out of my house!" And as if to make a point Daniel reaches for the shotgun propped up next to the table. The dog stands, a low rumble deep in her chest.

Pa raises his hands, an exact replica of Sam's earlier white flag. "Now, now, Daniel – calm down. Dean doesn't always think before he starts yapping. The boy needs to hobble his lip." Pa glares at Dean and usually his father's dark look is enough to stop Dean in his tracks. But Dean thinks that blind men shooting at his family warrants some kind of action. Besides, the guy is old and Dean feels pretty sure he can wrestle the damn shotgun away before he can get a shot off. Dean shoves back his chair and stands, weight balanced on his strong left leg.

"Stand down, Dean." Pa isn't loud but the meaning is clear. Dean stays up just a moment longer than is necessary, a restrained act of defiance. Then he sits reluctantly, still eyeballing Daniel. Sam hasn't moved a muscle but is watching the action unfold around him and even though he hasn't stirred, Dean can sense a subtle change in his brother, knows he's available if Dean needs him. To back-talk Dad or take a swing at Daniel. Sam is the best back-up anyone could ever need, be it bar fight or family dispute. It flashes through Dean's mind that he hasn't always been the best back-up for Sam though.

"Damn straight," Daniel grumbles. "I don't need some shave tail kid telling me what I can or can't do in my own house."

"A blind man shouldn't be shooting a gun, I don't care whose house he is in." Dean knows he sounds petulant but he and his family could have been shot by a blind hunter, "Jesus, Elkins."

Dean doesn't catch his father's dark look, but he knows it's there and he knows enough to figure he's out of line.

"That's _Mr._ Elkins to you, boy." Daniel's hawk-like face looks just as pissed as his father's does.

Sam's voice is soothing, like he's gentling a skittish colt. "Sorry Mr. Elkins. M' brother's a bit rough around the edges."

And for some reason, Sam's soft-spoken words do the trick. Daniel laughs then, reaches over and pounds Dean hard on the back. "If he's a Winchester there ain't no rounded corners."

Pa smiles wryly, with just a hint of affection. "So Daniel, now that we know my boy doesn't have the manners of a wolf pup, let's go back to the real reason we're here."

Pa is interrupted by Daniel. "You mean, other than the pretense of helping yourself to water for your horses and my good whiskey?" Daniel's words have a sharp edge to them.

This time it's John Winchester who seems to blush and damn if that hasn't happened in a long time. "Well, I suppose all of us are a little rough in the manners department, but I blame that on the fact that me and my boys haven't had a woman's touch in twenty years. You and I both know Mary didn't tolerate my bullshit and I doubt she'd put up with her boys' antics either. But that's exactly why we need your help. My Mary was a good girl, she didn't deserve to die like she did," Pa continues on, and it's a helluva lot more than Dean is used to hearing at one time from his father. "I know you have that Colt, you know I need it. And regardless of how damn good Kip there is at keeping you outta trouble, the chances of you being able to hunt anything at all, are slim to none. Give her to me. I'll make sure that I kill every evil son of a bitch that I can after I get the damn demon that got my Mary. You give me a short list, and I'll take care of as many as I can before they get me." Pa looks hard at Daniel, voice low and rough "I'm going after that demon one way or the other, and I'd rather go well heeled."

"What about your boys? Are they riding with you? Are you willing to put them in harm's way just to make a statement."

"I ain't makin' no damn statement, I'm gonna kill that sonofabitch. And no, they aren't gonna be anywhere near the damn thing."

"Wait a minute," Sam interjects, his quiet calm replaced with angry young man. "What do you mean, we aren't gonna be there. We're here now, Mr. Elkins there will give us the gun and then we go fight this thing."

"You," his father points a hard finger in Sam's direction, "are taking your ass back to school and Dean, you're heading back to the ranch. I gotta do this on my own."

"No way, Pa. It ain't happening, " Dean sounds strong despite the pounding of his heart. He is not letting his father take on a demon with nothing but a magical gun and grit.

"What my sons mean to say is…'yes, sir.'" His father's voice is low and he is directing his statement to Daniel, suddenly ignoring Sam and Dean.

Pa has made his order clear: Sam's going to school, Dean back to the ranch. Dean takes a deep breath, and shoots a quick but meaningful glance at Sam. Shutting up right now makes sense - if they decide to call their father out at Daniel's place it will end badly. It's better to wait until all three Winchesters are free of the old man. Defying pa in front of Daniel would bring the wrath of John Winchester on whichever boy decided to open his big mouth and both Sam and Dean have already said too much. Dean figures he's lucky the old man hasn't cuffed him already.

Daniel flicks a quick glance at all three Winchesters and he's obviously had enough dealings with John to figure out that this is between him and his boys, but the old man is well – _old_. Being old gives you certain unalienable rights, like sitting at the head of the table and speaking your own mind, even in the presence of John Winchester.

"The boys are right, John. This isn't a one-man hunt. You're gonna need back up and old yellow eyes ain't gonna be an easy kill."

"Yellow eyes? Why'd you call it that?" It seems important somehow, like a whiff of smoke just out of smelling range or a wily calf that avoids his rope. Then, suddenly and with absolute clarity Dean thinks of his ride on that crazy black stallion, the one that left him mangled and broken. The brief flash of wolf eyes he saw in the darkened tree-line. Yellow and bright - far too bright for darkened woods with no fire to reflect them. It had been a wolf. It had to be a wolf. But now, unexpectedly, Dean is not so sure.

"'Cause that's what it has - yellow eyes. Just like the goat eyes of it's daddy. This thing is powerful evil, boys, and even if I give you the gun, it ain't gonna go down easy."

Pa rakes a hand over his beard. He doesn't take direction well. Not even from Bobby Singer, but whatever kind of relationship he has with Daniel, he at least seems content to let the man talk.

"That demon is a sonofabitch. Nastier than anything else I've hunted. You boys are gonna need to ride careful and ride hard, if'n you think you're gonna put it down."

Pa nods. "The gun, Daniel. We need the Colt."

Once again the old man searches the faces of the Winchesters, settles on Pa's and seems to come to some kind of decision. He stands, walks steadily over to a low desk, toggles a button somewhere and pulls out drawer with a false bottom. Briefly it occurs to Dean that his father had the same thing in his study. _Is this a prerequisite for hunters?_

Then, wrapped in soft cloth, Daniel pulls out what must be the gun. He holds it with the familiar ease of a man comfortable with firearms and yet with a reverence usually given only to holy relics. He carefully puts it on the table and then slides it from his side to John's side. It's almost as if he has passed the torch from one hunter to another. John unwraps the Colt and for the first time, Dean sees the famous gun made by Samuel Colt. It is elegantly engraved and beautifully detailed, but Dean can see even from his vantage point that it is a work-horse, finely crafted but built for a job. There is a pentagram carefully carved in the grip. His father turns the Colt and gently runs his hands over the words engraved on it, says them low.

"_Non timebo mala." _ Both Sam and Dean translate it in their heads at the same time and then together out loud.

"I will fear no evil."


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Cowboy Up Chapter 8

Author: Saberivojo

Characters: Cowboy!Sam, Cowboy! Dean, Cowboy! John

XX

The next morning Mac is full of piss and vinegar and puts on a mini rodeo for the amusement of all four men. He's considerate enough to wait until Dean settles in the saddle before he starts the fireworks, but then he humps his back, drops his head and stiff legs it a few times. Dean growls a little, but the stallion ignores him for a half hearted crow hop that suddenly has Dean laughing. His father is trying to scowl but Dean can see a glint in his eyes, then out of the corner of his vision, he sees his father's slow grin. Sam actually cheers a bit from the sidelines. Dean isn't sure if he's rooting for Mac or for him, but Sam's enthusiastically whoopin' it up in true cowboy fashion so Dean doesn't much care who the whoops are for. Mac decides on one more buck, this time with a little more conviction and then stops, blowing hard in the early morning coolness.

"Better you than me, " Pa says and shakes his head as he steps into the saddle. Any disapproval he may have regarding his son's horse or Dean's ability to train him dissolves with a quick laugh. He settles comfortably in the saddle, leather creaking with his weight. Blue looks like she's giving Mac the stink eye and if Dean didn't know any better he'd swear she was saying _silly boy. _

They leave Daniel's cabin full of homemade biscuits and what might possibly be the best coffee Dean's ever had. "The secret's chicory," Daniel had said low, almost as if it was his momma's favorite recipe for pie. Dean had nodded to the old man, hands clutched around the cup and took another big sip. Nothin like a good cup of coffee to start your day out right. Daniel is turning into one of Dean's favorite people.

Dean flexes his shoulders, picks up the reins and allows his weight to sink in the saddle. Pain spikes sharp in his hip and travels down to his boot. It takes his breath away and he can't help the low moan that escapes. He doubts anyone heard it but Mac, who twitches his ear back at the sound but makes no other outward sign. Dean can't pretend it doesn't hurt but he's faked it before so he figures he'll keep it between him and Mac.

Dean feels like he's been rode hard and put away wet but he reckons it's worth it. Mac's in a fine mood; they have the Colt; and his father and brother aren't trying to beat each other senseless at the moment. All in all Dean figures he's got nothing to complain about.

The morning is a little cool but Dean knows it will get hotter. Mac is jigging his way up the mountain, blowing a bit and shifting under Dean but it's only high spirits and the need to be somewhere other than here. Mac can be a restless boy, it's one of the things that Dean loves about him.

This is familiar, his father, his brother, the sound of leather and the jangle of a bit. It's comforting to Dean, which is odd, considering they aren't tracking a mule deer or even that rogue grizzly.

It's not just safety in numbers_, it's safety in Winchesters,_ and the uneasiness that should be hanging over him is pushed to the back of his mind.

He glances ahead at Sam. Even his rebellious brother is riding easy, hips rolling under Howard, his body following the motion of his horse. Further ahead, his father is allowing Blue to pick her way up the trail. She's a fine trail horse and Dean appreciates how she navigates the somewhat treacherous climb.

They stop at a little clearing for lunch. It's leftover biscuits and that's just fine as far as Dean is concerned. All three horses are standing ground tied with their girths loosened a bit. Sam sits leaning up against a rock, lanky body folded up on itself, and Pa is propped up against a tree. Dean sits between them both, warming his leg in a patch of sun. He rubs the leg absently, a gentle kneading that sometimes helps the pain and other times does absolutely nothing.

He looks at his father. The man looks relaxed, despite the fact that they're hunting a yellow-eyed demon. _And shit, that's never gonna sound right. _ Dean figures now is as good as time as ever. He runs a hand over the stubble on his jaw and takes a deep breath.

John Winchester didn't raise any dumb boys so Dean's as careful as a naked man climbin' a barbedwire fence.

"So Pa, back at Daniel's. Did you mean what you said? About me going back to the ranch and Sammy heading back to school?"

His father stops thoughtfully, in mid chew. "How often have you heard me say somethin' I don't mean?"

It's not really a question that Dean needs to answer but he's conditioned to respond to his father so he shakes his head, "Off the top of my head, I can't recollect one time." It's true, his father doesn't change his mind or speak frivolously.

If John Winchester says something, he means it.

"So what makes you think I'd say one thing and mean another?" Pa questions and Dean doesn't think his father really cares what he thinks one whit, but he has asked his opinion so Dean's gonna give it to him.

"Well, we ain't left yet." Dean nods toward the mountain, "We're still climbing this mountain and riding together, so I'm wondering if maybe you don't want us to leave after all. Maybe Daniel's right thinking you need help. " Dean takes a deep breath and locks green eyes on his father's brown. "Maybe you think so too."

"What exactly are you trying to say, son?" And even though the words aren't rough, there is just an edge to Pa's voice. It's a bit of a challenge with just a hint of don't push me, boy - all rolled into one little comment.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see his brother tense, body coiling and uncoiling snake-like.

Suddenly Dean makes a decision.

"Well tellin' a man to git lost and makin' him do it are entirely two different propositions."

Dean doesn't see Sam, but he hears the sharp intake of breath.

His father glares hard a Dean, the kind of stare that makes Dean want to curl up, belly clenching in response. But Dean is taking a stand and if it costs him it will be worth it. Being a good son means nothing to Dean if his father dies facing a demon that Dean could have helped him fight. He watches as his father's hand automatically heads to his belt buckle and damn if that doesn't make his belly tighten further. It has been years since his father has felt the need to tan Dean's ass and Dean is a grown man. Still, Dean never puts anything past John Winchester so he takes the threat seriously. Instead though, Pa's hand curls into a loose fist and Dean thinks that maybe this particular ass kicking will be in the form of a knock down, drag out fight.

Fisticuffs with his father is not high on his list of things he wants to do today.

"Pa, just listen will ya? You, me, Sammy, this is our fight too. I'm thinkin' that maybe you need some back-up. That maybe you shouldn't be going this alone."

"And what makes you think that I'm gonna listen to an old man like Daniel Elkins?" Pa doesn't say it, but the _or you _is loud and clear.

Dean shrugs, drops his head, the brim of his hat momentarily shading his eyes.

"Well, maybe you'll listen to Bobby."

"What's Bobby got to do with this?" He sounds as ornery as a bear with a thorn in his paw.

"Pa, he told us where you were. He gave us the book. He wasn't all that happy about it, but he did it. Bobby knew you needed us, even if you didn't."

"He's right, Pa," Sam's voice is controlled, soft even. It's a testimony to how his brother needs this conversation to end.

How they all need this to end.

"Well, Bobby Singer might just find his ass looking for a new job when I get back."

Sam snorts, an incredulous sound that tells both Pa and Dean what he thinks about the Rocking W surviving without Bobby Singer.

"Pa, we are in this together. There's some stuff you don't know, maybe stuff you need to know. "

His father levels a steady gaze at Dean.

"And what would that be."

It sounds stupid, even is his head but it would be stupider not to mention it. Dean taps his leg. "This, the night it happened. I think it was there."

"What?" Razor-sharp and low, the word is unnaturally clipped. His father eyes Dean hard.

"I'm pretty sure I saw something in the woods."

Sam interjects, "The wolf with the yellow eyes right?"

Both men turn to Sam but it is Dean's eyes that narrow. "How'd you know about that?"

Sam drops his head, not quite able to meet his brother's eyes. "'Cause I saw it Dean. I saw you, the stallion and that damn wolf."

"How in the hell, Sammy? You were asleep. The corral wasn't even close to your room."

Sam stands, brushes his the dirt off of his jeans impatiently. "It was a dream okay? I just saw it in a dream, a nightmare. You riding that crazy ass horse and the yellow eyed wolf. "

Sam turns urgently to Dean, pulls his hat off and runs a hand through his unruly sweaty hair, then slaps the hat back on, "Dean it wasn't a wolf. It was the demon. I know it. It…it did something, made something happen and that stud horse just lost it. How do you think I got out to you right away? How in the hell did I make it to you just before that stallion took his last breath. I saw him go up, I saw it all…I just….I just…knew it." The last few words are softer.

Pa turns to look at both boys and Dean's not sure what he is thinking. Hell, Dean is not sure what he's thinking himself.

"So what? You're telling me that you knew about Dean and that horse without being there? Why didn't you tell me about this?"

Sam shakes his head incredulously, "Tell you what, Pa? That I see things in my dreams, that I knew something was gonna happen? That there was something evil in the woods the night that Dean got hurt?" Maybe it is the fact that Sam has actually put words to his thoughts but if Dean didn't know any better, he'd swear that Sammy's voice was cracking with the strain of his confession.

"Hell yes!" His father takes a step toward his brother, "You tell me when shit like that happens!"

Sam levels a gaze at his father, suddenly stronger and with a conviction that his little brother seems to have in spades. "You wouldn'ta believed me." He spits it out humorless and harsh. " _I_ didn't believe me and maybe if you had let us in on some of this shit earlier, I might have realized that it was important. I just…I just figured it was 'cause it was Dean." Sam's voice softens a bit., "Christ, Pa, he's my brother, he watches out for me and I look out for him and I dunno…" For a kid who is getting straight As at school, his brother is suddenly, inexplicably unable to formulate real words.

Dean is reeling: Sammy knew. Maybe more than Dean knew. Dean grasps at the significance.

It don't take genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep.

Demons, the horse, the yellow-eyed wolf, his momma. It's a horrible tangled mess but it's starting to make sense. This is his family and this thing, this _demon_ has ripped his family apart. Bad leg or no, pissed off father or no, crazy assed dream-walking brother or no, he's gonna see it through to it's inevitable conclusion.

"Listen, Pa. We need to be in this fight. We need to be in it together." Dean's voice is strong: his father needs to understand.

"What you boys need is to do what I say." There is the familiar growl, punctuated by a squint at both Sam and Dean.

It's obvious that John Winchester thinks the conversation is over, regardless of Dean or Sam or the set of balls that they both seem to have grown.

Sam stands then, all six foot four of him. Pa is up too, just as quickly and if Dean could manage it, he would be there as well. Instead he lets his head drop and his shoulders slump.

"C'mon, does this really have to happen now?" Dean's voice has lost some of its conviction but there is anger there now, sharp and bright. He would fight his father if he needs to but he can't handle Pa and Sam.

Neither man looks at Dean. His father and his brother stand toe to toe and they are breathing heavy and fuck, not again.

"Y'know 'cause yesterday's little refereeing session just about killed me and I'm really fucking tired of it." Dean's voice is loud and it surprises him how much bass he's managed to drop in that one sentence.

Pa swivels his head from Sam to Dean.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I'm. Fucking. Tired." Dean enunciates each word clearly, like he's talking to a couple of two year olds. Dean grabs his cane, levers himself up with the help of both it and a nearby tree. Sam makes an attempt to help him, but Dean slaps his hand away, "And you," Dean gestures roughly to Sam, "I don't need any of your help."

Dean tries to stalk off to Mac, but he's right, yesterday's flying dismount has sent today's pain levels off the roof. He takes a step toward the big black stallion but can't stop the involuntary hiss as his bad leg hits the ground. He ignores the pain, shoves it down someplace deep and focuses on Mac.

All he wants is to get away from Pa and Sam. To take a breath that isn't marred by a fight.

His father's low rumble has been a constant in Dean's life. Sometimes it soothes, followed by a gentle brush of hand, more often it is the precursor to an open handed slap; but this is different. His father's voice trembles and Lord knows the last time Dean heard that sound he had been in and out of consciousness. He wasn't even sure he remembered it.

"Wait, son."

And damn if Dean doesn't. He stops with his back to his father and brother, eyes on the black stallion who stands contentedly in the clearing.

"Maybe you're right."

Dean turns, leans into his cane and faces his father.

"I am?" Dean's truly puzzled.

"Maybe I've been looking at this wrong, maybe you boys should be a part of this fight," his father drops his head hat low over his eyes then up again, squinting a little in the bright Texas sun, "Considering what I've heard today, maybe you always have been."

That one sentence gives Dean the confidence he needs, "We're stronger as a family Pa, we just are. You know it."

Dean meets his father's eyes.

This is right, this feels right.

A quick glance at Sam and his brother's brief nod confirms it. Sam's bangs are hanging in his eyes and his hat brim is shielding more than just the sun.

This family, these men, they are all that Dean has. He's got a bum leg, an honest horse and this family.

It could be worse, he figures.

He's a Winchester and really he can't expect more than that.

His father's voice is clear and Dean straightens at the sound. "C'mon boys, we've got work to do."

T

end


End file.
